


circuit dreams

by jongdaesang (d10smessi)



Series: Formula One AU [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Formula One, Fluff, Inappropriate Use of Money, M/M, Romance, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-12 19:38:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11168706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d10smessi/pseuds/jongdaesang
Summary: Jongin is a champion Formula One driver. Kyungsoo's EXO's D.O. They begin a love affair faster than the maximum speed of Jongin's Mercedes F1 W07 Hybrid.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> jongin's kinda lewis hamilton. kyungsoo may or may not be nicole scherzinger.
> 
>  
> 
> FEATURING: inaccuracies, pro-athlete tropes, my usual writing style, rich as fuck jongin as a mix of lewis hamilton, nico rosberg, and max verstappen, very inappropriate financial management, EXO
> 
>  
> 
> SET IN: 2016 ('16 F1 season)

 

 

Kyungsoo sighs when the beat of the music plays in a staccato rhythm over the harsh white lights of the room. The place is an embodiment of manufactured industrial chic—an excessively large place in Gangnam’s pricey area code trying to emulate the warehouse aesthetics of art studios straight out of dreams. Stick thin women with gaunt faces thunder past in their sky-high heels and blue and yellow eye makeup.

 

“We should try having our faces done like that,” Baekhyun whispers to him, covering his face with his hands out of habit. Kyungsoo returns his statement with a glare hoping to convey a reprimand. Baekhyun knows better than to talk during stuffy events like this.

 

“Shut up.” Kyungsoo barely moves his mouth, a talent honed by almost six years of being under the scrutiny of the public. Baekhyun grins salaciously and straightens in his seat, eyeing one model with most of her chest hanging out of a structured black top. Kyungsoo suppresses a yawn. On his other side, Yixing adjusts himself for what must have been the fifteenth time since the first model has walked past.

 

The fashion house has organized a special show in time for their flagship’s first anniversary. Anyone who’s someone in South Korea has to sit on the uncomfortable chair that is more for visual than for comfort. All eight of EXO has a place on the front row, being the label’s most profitable ambassadors in Asia.

 

Knobby knees pass in front of Kyungsoo, dressed in a thin mini skirt that’s too little for the coldness of the room. He has been trying so hard to pay attention to the clothes toddling in front of him in time with the thumping bass but he’s never one to pay much attention to trivial things such as coordinated outfits. He won’t be able to pull off thigh-high suede boots anyway.

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes stray over the other guests across from him. The lag time between one model and the next provides a good opportunity for him to stare at other impeccably dressed strangers. The way a person holds himself says a lot about how the person is held—figuratively and literally.

 

The man sitting diagonally across from him catches his eye. The gold of his skin and the classic strength of his features scream 1950s show business. With a jawline sharper than Jongdae’s, Kyungsoo thinks he must have been a model—someone who’s famous. A face like that is frequently featured on televisions or magazine covers.

 

There’s a distinct weight addled to a person’s gaze and the man with the sharp jawline must have felt Kyungsoo’s. He turns his head a little bit to his direction and, in between a baby pink ruffled dress and a bright yellow pantsuit, their eyes meet.

 

The man’s spine is pin-straight and his right leg is crossed over the left. His lips lift a little at the side and his sleepy-looking eyes squint slightly before he breaks out in a beautiful grin. Kyungsoo prays he’s not red in the face from the other man’s smile and stare.

 

He blinks twice, thrice, in rapid succession, gulping before turning away from the man. Kyungsoo feels the heavy gaze boring on the side of his face. He resolutely keeps his head towards the models. A woman in loose pants and an even looser jacket without anything underneath struts by. He wonders if it’s just his imagination—the man running his eyes all over his seated figure.

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t look at him to check.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The afterparty is all flashing lights in reds and blues and greens. The music blaring from the speakers is very Eastern European. Kyungsoo doesn’t know what that means but the one DJ-ing has insisted about that description. He has the beginnings of a buzzing headache and the constant chatter between Baekhyun and Jongdae doesn’t help it one bit.

 

Afterparties are nothing but a show of wealth and fancy networking. Champagne flows freely like liquid gold, spilling over designer clothes and fat wallets and snazzy CVs. Kyungsoo sees an old man in a nicely pressed suit. He thinks he’s probably the CEO of something or another. He doesn’t pay much attention to society—that’s usually Chanyeol’s nosy ass’ job.

 

“Hello,” someone whispers on Kyungsoo’s right ear. The puff of warm air surprises him and the raspy voice drawls the greeting in english. He turns around, startled, and his words get caught in his throat in a vice.

 

The man from before stands tall and confident in front of him. The long line of his embroidered jacket accentuates his height and the breadth of his shoulders. Kyungsoo thinks his hair is some shade of brown but the lights make it harder to confirm. There’s a boyish grin playing on his face and it’s a nice contrast to the conceit of his posture.

 

“Hi,” Kyungsoo replies softly. He extends his hand and the man returns it with a firm shake. His hands are calloused compared to the softness of Kyungsoo’s palm.

 

The boyish smile on the man’s face turns into a small smirk, one corner of his lips quirking upwards. “Kim Jongin. Call me Jongin, please,” he says. From his tone, Kyungsoo feels like Kim Jongin expects him to know who he is. It’s nothing new in these kinds of events. People love it when they get recognized.

 

Kyungsoo raises one meticulously plucked eyebrow, imitating the other’s tone and smiling a little, he leans closer, “Do Kyungsoo. Nice to meet you.”

 

“May I call you Kyungsoo?” 

 

There’s a strange lilt to Jongin’s Korean that Kyungsoo can’t place. Instead of off-putting, Kyungoo finds it charming that he involuntarily nods. The smirk on Jongin’s face blooms into a wide smile and the shorter male finds himself smiling back.

 

Jongin leads him away from where he’s standing and Kyungsoo vaguely thinks of his manager and the rest of EXO mingling. This is not something Kyungsoo’s good at despite years of being an idol but something about the disarming droop of Jongin’s eyes makes him comfortable enough. A waiter passes by and Jongin plucks two flutes of champagne, handing one to Kyungsoo.

 

“Thanks,” he mutters, sipping the alcohol lightly. He prefers beer and wine over the bitter taste of bubbly but the gold of the drink looks enticing when it’s Jongin who’s holding the glass. 

 

“It’s no problem. I’m trying to get you drunk.”

 

Kyungsoo almost chokes on the champagne and his eyes widen as his neck snaps upwards to Jongin’s direction. A playful grin graces his features, illuminating his face better than the strobe lights can. There’s a joke hinting on the corners of Jongin’s lips but the way his body carefully leans inwards towards Kyungsoo speaks of one the most blatant come-ons the singer has ever encountered.

 

He can’t say he minds it, not one bit.

 

Kyungsoo looks at Jongin under his lashes, something he’s been taught as attractive and appealing. The headache he’s feeling a while ago is nothing but a dream now and he’s feeling bold for once despite the lack of liquid courage. 

 

“It takes a lot to get me drunk,” he says. He watches as Jongin’s eyes go big in pleasant surprise and the taller man takes a sip of his champagne. The smile on his plump lips is noticeable even behind the thin rim of the flute.

 

After a weighted pause, Jongin says, “You’re interesting.”

 

Kyungsoo beams at the compliment. It’s not something he’s heard often. First meetings tend to put him under the _boring_ category. He’s not like Baekhyun or Jongdae or Chanyeol, whose natural extrovert qualities draw people in; not like Yixing or Junmyeon or Minseok, who are smart and witty; not like Sehun, who can be intentionally funny without making fun of himself.

 

Kyungsoo is just Kyungsoo—a little weird and awkward—but there’s an attractive guy openly flirting with him and he can’t help but be flattered. 

 

“Thank you.” He hopes his sincerity does not come off as too eager. “I could say the same thing to you. You seem like an intriguing man, Jongin.”

 

Jongin doesn’t bother hiding his chuckle. “That’s a first.”

 

“You don’t normally get called intriguing?” Kyungsoo raises both his eyebrows in incredulity.

 

“My profession doesn’t really make me that much of an intrigue,” Jongin shrugs. “At least, not thekind of intrigue that you meant.”

 

“Are you a model?” Kyungsoo blurts out. Jongin double-takes at that and the shorter man is ready to apologize in case he has offended the other.

 

“Kind of,” Jongin rubs his left hand on his nape and Kyungsoo wants to coo at the shy gesture. Jongin looks like he’s unsure of what he’s saying. It’s strangely more appealing than the show of self-surety.

 

Kyungsoo says as much and Jongin blinks in surprise before beaming at him.

 

“It’s part of my job—being confident,” Jongin admits. He steps half a foot closer to Kyungsoo but Kyungsoo doesn’t mind the minimal distance. Jongin is not like the others who have easily slipped their skin against his, assuming just because he’s an idol that he’s fine with contact. There’s a beat of silence when the loud music thumps underneath Kyungsoo’s skin and then, sheepishly, Jongin adds, “I’m trying to impress you.”

 

Kyungsoo stills and then, unbidden, laughs out loud. The lights throw the stark relief of Jongin’s bone structure with glowing blue but the red of his cheeks is not from the flashes but from embarrassment. Jongin turns his head away from Kyungsoo’s direction and downs his champagne in one go.

 

“No, sorry,” Kyungsoo breathes out. He reaches a hand on Jongin’s bicep, finding hard muscle under his fingertips. The other man turns to look at him, ears a little bit red and his cheeks a healthy pink. “I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just—You know.”

 

Kyungsoo gestures to Jongin’s general direction, flapping his hands repeatedly. “I don’t think you need to do much to impress me.”

 

Jongin steps closer again but he’s still not touching Kyungsoo. One of his hands is loosely gripping the glass flute and the other is stuffed inside the pocket of his trousers. He bends down so his lips are a hair breadth’s away from Kyungsoo’s ear.

 

“You deserved to be impressed.” Jongin’s voice is purposefully lowered by an octave. The pounding of the bass is incessant but it’s no match to Kyungsoo’s erratic heart inside his chest. Jongin enunciates each syllable slowly, and his breath is warm and then hot on Kyungsoo’s earlobe. The turtleneck he’s wearing feels like it’s choking him. 

 

Kyungsoo takes a step back. The smile on Jongin’s face falls a little.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo’s feels annoyance thrum in his veins when yet another man has approached him, smile lascivious and hands wandering over the sleeves of his tailored suit. Rich men act like they’re entitled to beautiful playthings who’ll never talk. Kyungsoo, as an idol, is one of the shiny objects they always try to pocket.

 

There are men who date celebrities to date celebrities.

 

He, along with Junmyeon and Sehun, is invited to represent EXO in a party organized by SAMSUNG. The other five have managed to bail out faster than he has. He downs another glass of champagne, grimacing at the burn that has become familiar after the third or the seventh time. Kyungsoo has lost count. Alcohol is alcohol in one’s stomach. His senses are dulled slightly but his tolerance is high and he’s bordering only on the side of tipsy.

 

The seat is cushioned, at the very least. But there are less people sitting like he does inside the hotel ballroom. Most are standing up and mingling with the crowd, talking about this and that, about everything and nothing at all. Kyungsoo has yet to master the art of small talk. A couple of meters away, Junmyeon and Sehun are talking to someone highly important, judging by the anxious way their manager is hovering a few distance from where they are. Kyungsoo’s left alone, thankfully.

 

“It’s nice to run into you again, _hyung_.” Someone says from Kyungsoo’s right. Someone familiar. Someone he has met a week ago.

 

“Hello, Kim Jongin,” Kyungsoo greets, turning to face the newcomer who has so impolitely sat down on the seat designated for their manager. The table is empty besides the two of them. “I didn’t realize I’m older than you are.”

 

“By a year and two days. I was born on the 14th of January, 1994.”

 

“You don’t look that young to me,” Kyungsoo notes.

 

“I get that a lot,” Jongin replies, twisting his body slightly so he’s looking at Kyungsoo directly in the eyes.

 

“It’s been a week,” Kyungsoo says, apropos of nothing.

 

“Eight days,” Jongin corrects with a smile. He crosses his legs and turns his body completely towards the other male. His knees graze the side of Kyungsoo’s thigh but the shorter man makes no move to put distance between the fabric of their designer suits. “I thought I would never see you again.”

 

“South Korea is not that large when we move in the same circle,” Kyungsoo notes, turning towards Jongin too. Jongin smiles softly. There’s something adoring and sweet about his stare, something so painfully obvious to the oblivious Kyungsoo. Or, maybe Kyungsoo’s projecting, hoping, wishing.

 

“True,” he replies. Kyungsoo is distracted as he watches Jongin’s index finger that’s lazily tracing the thin stem of the champagne, up and down, up and down. The soft smile turns into a smirk when his eyes drift to where Kyungsoo has been staring.

 

Kyungsoo feels dizzy and it’s not from the alcohol.

 

“I miss you,” Jongin says, breaking the silence that has befallen them.

 

“You’ve met me once,” Kyungsoo points out. He tears his gaze off of Jongin’s finger and he forces himself to look at the eyes of the smug man.

 

“Yes.” Jongin stops playing with the cold glass. Both his hands are now on top of his lap, carefully folded in an illusion of primness betrayed by the casual way the top buttons of his shirt are undone. There’s a silver watch peeking from the cuff of his left sleeve. Seemingly pouting, he adds, “You didn’t give me your phone number.”

 

Kyungsoo looks Kim Jongin straight in the eye. There’s a small twist on one corner of his lips. “I don’t just give out my number to anyone.”

 

“But I’m not just anyone, right, D.O?” Jongin stresses Kyungsoo’s stage name in an attractive cadence. Kyungsoo feels his cheeks warm up despite the chilly room.

 

“My birthday and my stage name? I see you know who I am.”

 

“And I see you still don’t know who _I am._ ” Jongin chuckles a little bit at that but he doesn’t sound insulted. “It’s refreshing.”

 

One of Jongin’s hands creep on Kyungsoo’s knees. It settles laxly on top of the knobby bone, nothing firm, a reminder that the other man can push it away if he wants. Kyungsoo knows he should bat it away, knows he should reject all forms of advances from a man he has met twice. Especially, a model like Jongin. If he really is one.

 

Relationships complicate everything in the entertainment industry. Anonymity is non-existent next to fame and discreetness can only go so far in the name of secrecy.

 

The hand on his knees stay and Jongin’s eyes crinkle in tiny crescent moons, his smile bright.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jongin supposes it’s apt that everything ends where it has begun.

 

Three days after the SAMSUNG event and he’s stuffed inside a club catering towards VIPs in the middle of fucking nowhere Gangnam. He’s meeting an old friend who has brought an entourage and Jongin’s not one to decline a hard drink so he doesn’t mind the extra hangers-on.

 

Women swim across the sea of pulsating bodies on top of their stilettos. Blood red lipstick is intimidating when curled into a predatory smile. Men are dressed in tight pants and leather shoes, expensive jacket carelessly thrown over the shoulders. There’s a method to everything; VIP clubs keep everything that happens inside, inside.

 

Jongin finishes his first martini fast. A girl in a tight red dress with an even tighter skin wraps her cold hands all around his forearm, pulling him to the direction of the dance floor. He complies for lack of nothing to do.

 

The electronic synth reminds Jongin of that one event when he has first met Do Kyungsoo, the lead vocalist of famous Kpop group EXO. The very-much-Korean DJ has called it Eastern European chic but Jongin’s been to clubs in Budapest and Moscow and Prague and some other more in latitudes he can’t even remember and he’s sure it’s not Eastern European. If anything, it’s closer to Ibiza trash music and whatever the hell DJs play in the French Riviera.

 

The girl is swaying unsteadily from too much gin and fruit juice. Her breath is hot from where she’s pressed on Jongin’s front. He thinks it should be a turn on, but his dance partner is too busy trying to multitask staying upright and gyrating her hips than focusing on him. The mass of the bodies move in time with the reverberations coming from the speakers. The DJ screams something that has the girl on Jongin’s arms screaming back before running off. Her lips are already attached to another woman’s.

 

Jongin sighs and shakes his head a little. The night is young, two hours before midnight. He’s about to walk off when he’s accosted by a small man.

 

“Hi,” Do Kyungsoo murmurs. He’s looking up at Jongin, big eyes twinkling with mirth and a little bit of excitement. 

 

“Hi.” Jongin feels a little stupid standing slightly on the edge of the dance floor. “We should stop meeting at these kinds of settings.”

 

“So,” a slight pout, “you don’t want to meet me anymore?”

 

Jongin smiles a bit before invading Kyungsoo’s space. His feet are in between Kyungsoo’s but the man does nothing to step back—unlike the first time. There’s a vague sense of victory from the way the older man leans closer.

 

“Maybe not in a noisy club,” Jongin whispers. “Somewhere quiet.”

 

Kyungsoo takes the initiative, wrapping his arms and linking them on Jongin’s nape. He plays with the short tendrils of hair, Jongin can feel the ghost of Kyungsoo’s fingertips on his skin. He gulps when the singer smirks at him.

 

“And,” Kyungsoo’s voice drops a bit and Jongin’s hands rest on the soft flesh of the other man’s hips. There’s a slight hitch on Kyungsoo’s breathy tone when he continues, “Where do you think that somewhere is?”

 

“I brought a car.” Jongin’s face easily slips into a seductive smirk. “I can drive us to the apartment where I’m staying.”

 

Kyungsoo turns stock-still in his embrace and Jongin watches as the man bites the bottom half of his plush lips in between perfect teeth. Jongin is prepared to apologize but Kyungsoo’s hands unlinked themselves from his nape before they press gently on the material of his shirt. The hands travel downwards, from Jongin’s shoulders to his biceps to his wrists, like a phantom caress. Kyungsoo holds Jongin’s right hand in his, tugging him to the direction of the exit.

 

Jongin complies and before long, they’re making their way to the basement parking. The club provides a parking space for its paranoid patrons. Jongin pulls Kyungsoo to the direction of his car. He’s tempted to stop and kiss the man behind one of the cement pillars but the longer they stay in the dingy garage, the longer they’ll be away from a king-sized bed.

 

He pulls the keys from his pocket and Kyungso whistles in appreciation. The bright red Ferrari 488 glimmers in the ugly lighting. It doesn’t feel much of a betrayal when he’s cruising along empty roads.

 

“That’s a nice ride,” Kyungsoo comments.

 

“I borrowed it from a friend,” Jongin says. He doesn’t keep a car in Korea, not when he barely lives in the country. He tells as much even if the other man doesn’t really respond.

 

Jongin opens the passenger side for Kyungsoo and the older deftly slips inside before he closes the door himself. He goes around and settles in the leather seat, turning on the ignition swiftly. The engine purrs to life a tune that is familiar but before Jongin can pull out of the garage, Kyungsoo’s pale hand reaches to cover one of his.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Both his eyebrows are knitted together in concern. “Maybe you shouldn’t drive a fast car when you just drank.”

 

Jongin rests his free hand on top of Kyungsoo’s hand. There’s warmth pooling low on his gut that’s not from the lust and the alcohol. “I’m a good driver; don’t worry. And I’m not even tipsy.”

 

Kyungsoo looks unsure so Jongin twists his body sideways. His face is an inch or so away from Kyungsoo’s. The older man closes his eyes and, hearing no protests, Jongin closes the distance between their lips. There’s nothing lewd about the kiss but it’s hot and open-mouthed. Jongin cups Kyungsoo’s small face in his hand, rubbing one of the high cheekbones in what he hopes as reassurance. 

 

Kyungsoo pulls away first and Jongin grins at him before reminding him to fasten his seatbelt. He gets out of the basement parking and the Ferrari streaks across the road smoothly. Jongin chances a glance towards Kyungsoo’s direction, finding the man tapping a finger on his thigh. Kyungsoo happens to see him and the man’s eyes go wide.

 

“Watch the road!” Kyungsoo looks deathly worried. Jongin just laughs.

 

“I told you not to worry,” Jongin soothes the older man. There are barely any cars on the road and Jongin wants to push close to the speed limit. He presses the gas pedal a tad and the Ferrari feels like it’s finally moving. 

 

He takes one of his hands off of the wheel, blindly reaching to the passenger side. Kyungsoo catches his wandering hand and he intertwines their hand over his lap. Jongin feels hot despite the perfect air-conditioning system of the car.

 

Jongin’s a model citizen in South Korea so he brakes when they hit a red light. He crosses over the gear expertly and he’s half-way over Kyungsoo before he’s pressing another heated kiss on the other man’s plump lips. Kyungsoo opens his mouth readily and Jongin slips his tongue inside, prodding and licking warmth. 

 

Kyungsoo tastes a little bit of whiskey and Jongin hopes the older man likes vodka and dry vermouth with a hint of green olive. He breaks the kiss with a bite on Kyungsoo’s lower lip, yanking it a bit before letting go. He lets the soft skin graze his teeth and Kyungsoo’s already flushed red from a simple kiss.

 

“How fast can you get us to your place?” Kyungsoo inquires, breathing unstable. He’s fiddling with the edge of the seatbelt and his thighs are pressed together.

 

“Well,” Jongin smirks. “It depends on how many traffic laws you want me to break.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The door to Jongin’s apartment closes with a thud. He pushes Kyungsoo towards the wall near the entryway with bruising force. An apology sticks on the back of his tongue ready to be said but Kyungsoo sticks his lips on his and everything is forgotten.

 

Jongin rests his hands on Kyungsoo’s small waist, marveling at the soft curvature of the other man. Kyungsoo links his hands on his nape again, just like what he has done in the club, and pulls him downwards. Jongin opens his mouth and lets Kyungsoo control the kiss, the older man’s tongue licking the inside of his mouth. Kyungsoo tilts his head to gain better access and the wet sound of their lips is loud in the silence of the empty place.

 

Jongin feels a crick on his neck and his hands roam down towards Kyungsoo’s ass before squeezing the firm muscle through the material of his skinny jeans. Kyungsoo moans in the kiss, abruptly breaking it off to look at Jongin with his wide eyes now half-lidded. The taller man smiles before he bends his head low, capturing Kyungsoo’s lips in another searing kiss.

 

The younger pushes Kyungsoo upwards, lifting Kyungsoo off of his feet. The other’s legs wrap securely on Jongin’s hips and Jongin holds Kyungsoo securely. He’s lower than Kyungsoo this way so when the man breaks their kiss, he attacks Jongin’s neck with vigor. He places an open kiss on the outside of Jongin’s neck before his lips move their way upwards. He nips on Jongin’s jawline and licks the skin, moving towards Jongin’s ear.

 

“Bedroom,” Kyungsoo whispers. Jongin moans when the older man bites on his earlobe playfully.

 

Jongin carries Kyungsoo to the master bedroom, opening the door slowly without letting go. Kyungsoo laughs a little when Jongin fumbles with the doorknob but Jongin shushes him with a press of his lips on Kyungsoo’s.

 

Clothes off. Skin on skin. Their nakedness press together. Wild heartbeats threatening to burst out of sweaty chests, Jongin relishes Kyungsoo on his tongue. His cock is heavy on Kyungsoo’s soft thighs and his mouth is occupied by the need to taste and to devour. His tongue flicks on the older man’s nipples and his fingers trace the smooth expanse of Kyungsoo and the infinity that stretches along the numerous scattered moles. 

 

There’s nothing but the sound of labored breathing and wet noises coming from the two of them. Kyungsoo’s hand reaches to palm Jongin’s dick, and before long, their moans and groans echo all over the empty walls of the desolate apartment. Goosebumps rising from searing hot skin, open-mouthed kisses on inner thighs, Jongin takes Kyungsoo apart like a scientist and an artist—clinical precision with the finesse of a virtuoso. 

 

Jongin pushes himself in and bites on available skin, marking and tattooing himself on Kyungsoo’s entire being with the power and the heat of his mouth and gaze. Kyungsoo reaches and winds his arms on Jongin, legs wrapped around the taller man’s waist. Jongin wants to be closer, closer, closer, closer—

 

Nothing is ever enough.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Spent, Kyungsoo sluggishly slides Jongin’s flaccid cock out of him, holding the base to make sure the condom doesn’t slip off. Jongin watches as Kyungsoo rolls away before he takes the condom off. He ties it expertly before throwing it on the wastebasket a couple of feet away. He mentally fist-bumps himself when the condom sails inside.

 

Jongin turns to Kyungsoo, who’s still getting his breathing back to normal. He raises himself on his side, cradling the side of his head with his hand, completely uncaring of their nakedness. He scoots closer the singer and he leaves a sweet peck on the other’s sweaty temple.

 

“You can stay the night,” Jongin offers. The king-sized bed is too big for one person and Jongin won’t be complaining if he’ll have Kyungsoo’s soft body pressed against his through the night.

 

Suddenly, Kyungsoo bolts upright. “Shit.”

 

Jongin sits up straight too, asking, “Is everything okay?” Mental images of Kyungsoo telling him that _this_ is a mistake runs on his mind—maybe Kyungsoo’s taken, with a pretty girlfriend or a handsome boyfriend. Just because he’s some preppy idol does not mean Kyungsoo’s not the type to sleep around. It won’t be the first time Jongin will have encountered something like this.

 

“Kyungsoo?” he asks. This time, his voice is sharper and a little colder. Jongin puts on afaçade of stoicism born out of being in the public scrutiny. Media vultures feed themselves from the bullshit Jongin subjects himself into.

 

Kyungsoo puts his underwear and his jeans on before he faces Jongin. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I didn’t really tell my manager about—well—doing this,” he explains. Something inside Jongin loosens at that and all the things he has imagined flew out the window with the sheepish smile on Kyungsoo’s heart-shaped lips.

 

Kyungsoo putters around the room trying to find his shirt. Jongin smiles when the other man releases an _aha_ before pushing his shirt down his head.

 

“I can give you a lift,” Jongin suggests. Kyungsoo stares at him, nodding after a short moment of thinking.

 

“Thanks,” he says once Jongin has led them both outside the apartment.

 

“It’s no problem.” Jongin grins at Kyungsoo. In a fit of courage, he grabs Kyungsoo’s hand and entwines them together. Kyungsoo stiffens a tad before he squeezes Jongin’s bigger hand. Jongin’s grin is so wide it threatens to split his face in half.

 

The first few minutes of the car ride is spent in silence. Kyungsoo keys in their dorm’s address on the GPS and Jongin speeds through the almost empty streets feeling like the car is barely moving. He can hear Kyungsoo fiddling with the seatbelt and then—

 

“So you’re not a model?”

 

Jongin laughs, a little startled. “What makes you say that?”

 

“I don’t think a model would own this nice of a car and that nice of an apartment,” Kyungsoo answers in a matter-of-fact tone.

 

“I told you I borrowed this car from a friend.”

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo replies. “But you’re very at ease for someone who’s just driving a lent vehicle around.”

 

“You’re very observant,” Jongin notes. “But I really do model. I’m just not officially one. Modeling is—I suppose—a side effect of my job.”

 

Jongin swiftly hits the brakes at a red light, turning to Kyungsoo and seeing the other man biting his bottom lip has Jongin wanting to kiss the man silly. Looking at Kyungsoo makes him feel like a teenager again, even if he’s not that much older than one.

 

“If I search you on Google—” Kyungsoo nips on his lip, distracting Jongin. “—what results will I get?”

 

Jongin, incredulous, raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never tried searching me online?”

 

“No!” Kyungsoo replies indignantly. “That’s kinda creepy, don’t you think?”

 

Jongin laughs again. He thinks he’s been doing that a lot when he’s with Kyungsoo. He playfully smirks, teases, “I watched all your music videos from 2012 to the most recent one. And then all the interviews and variety shows I can find. I bought all your albums and DVDs.”

 

The taller man watches as the apples of Kyungsoo’s cheeks turn red. He twiddles with his fingers and Jongin thanks the small space inside the car when he can easily place a kiss on one of Kyungsoo’s warm cheeks.

 

“The light is green,” Kyungsoo mumbles. 

 

Jongin smiles and lets the purr of the Ferrari speak for the both of them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo gives Jongin his phone number and a chaste kiss on the lips before he runs towards the direction of his dorm.

 

Once Kyungsoo is safely inside the building, Jongin gives an exuberant yell before driving off, humming EXO’s Love Me Right under his breath.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo wakes up with a delicious ache on his back, a scolding from Junymeon, and an _I hope they don’t get mad at you :( - Jongin_ displayed on his phone notification. He smiles and saves the number on his contact list, shooting a quick good morning text and an _I’ll live_ to the younger man, before heading out for a late breakfast.

 

They have to leave and be in the airport to fly out to Jakarta for The Exo’luxion in Indonesia. None of them have enough energy to prepare a decent meal so Kyungsoo’s seated at the dining table with a bowl of cereal in front of him. Baekhyun, seated across, has his phone in his hands while cramming a peanut butter sandwich inside his mouth.

 

He likes early morning silences when none of the members are awake enough to cause unnecessary trouble. They’re all tired and wound tight with the impending end of their second concert tour. Comeback concepts are being discussed and pitched among the members and EXO’s creative team. Kyungsoo’s about to shove another spoonful of chocolate cereal inside his mouth when Baekhyun suddenly chokes on his food.

 

“Here.” Kyungsoo pushed his glass of water to Baekhyun. “You okay?”

 

Baekhyun downs half of Kyungsoo’s drink, thumping his chest in the process. “Kai Kim just followed me on instagram.”

 

“Who?” Kyungsoo asks. Baekhyun says Kai Kim like he’s someone worth knowing. Suddenly, Chanyeol and Sehun barrels inside, clutching both their phones and waving it around. The two of them are shrieking.

 

Minseok, who likes to pretend that none of this is happening, sighs and gives up, asking, “What’s wrong?”

 

“Kai Kim followed me on instagram,” Chanyeol rushes out. Sehun nods wildly, barely managing a ‘me too’ before he goes back to staring starry-eyed at his phone. “And also Yixing-hyung but he doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation.”

 

“Again,” Kyungsoo interrupts. “Who?”

 

“Kai Kim,” Baekhyun starts, cheeks pink from his near-death experience. “He’s, like, the youngest Formula One champion when he’s 21, two years ago. He finished third last season but he’s still the favorite this coming Grands Prix.”

 

“Since when do you know anything about Formula One?” Minseok asks.

 

“What’s a Formula One?” Kyungsoo, at the same time, also inquires, head tilted to the side in confusion.

 

There’s a halt among the four others in the dining room and Kyungsoo feels severely judged when they turn their eyes to him.

 

Sighing, Baekhyun explains, “It’s a bunch of dudes racing on death traps. It’s fun to watch but a little confusing if you ask me. And—“ He turns his stare to Minseok. “—I wasn’t really into it until the middle of last year. I got hooked into a game and it just went from there. Chanyeol and Sehun were the same.”

 

“So what if Kai Kim followed you three?” Kyungsoo munches on his cereal.

 

Sehun walks over to him, draping long limbs all over Kyungsoo’s figure. He says, “Because he’s hot, famous, _and_ rich.”

 

Kyungsoo regards Sehun carefully, “You’re also hot, famous, and rich.”

 

Chanyeol plops himself completely on the table, not even bothering with a chair. “Yeah. But he’s, like, on a different level.” He scrolls and taps a few on his iPhone before leveling the screen in front of Kyungsoo.

 

The singer squints a bit—wait—

 

“Kim Jongin?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Airport codes feel more familiar than the certainty of a home when Kyungsoo’s always moving from one place to another. The plane is the same as a hotel in a way that it’s transit and transient. Baekhyun sits beside him, claiming he’d help Kyungsoo with his research. Junmyeon eyes them a bit from where he’s seated across but almost four years in their career and everyone has learned to tune out Junmyeon’s judgmental stare.

 

Before the plane takes off, he sends a quick text to Jongin, attaching a screen shot of the man’s Wikipedia page and a string of interrobangs. Kyungsoo opens multiple tabs before a flight attendant asks him to keep his phone. Once the plane is up, he diligently reads through various news and Wikipedia articles in an attempt to reconcile Kim Jongin (Jongin Kim, the man is born and raised in England, explaining the accent and the sometimes awkward Korean) to the pro-athlete Kai Kim.

 

“Your boy is rich as hell, Kyungsoo,” Baekhyun says. He’s scrolling lazily on his phone where he, too, has opened anything and everything that can be traced back to Jongin—in particular, the man’s net worth. “He’s going to be such a sugar daddy on you—us, hopefully. He can spare us some of his money.”

 

Kyungsoo slaps Baekhyun’s hand, warning, “He’s not.” He doesn’t say anything about Baekhyun calling Jongin _his,_ doesn’t exactly know what to say about that.

 

The older singer scoffs, “He’s been in Formula One since he’s 19. Everyone calls him a genius with his 110-million Euro contract with Mercedes—which I’m not sure how much in won but I’m sure it’s a fuck ton. _And_ he owns a private jet.”

 

“That’s a rumor,” Chanyeol pipes up from where he has been sitting behind them, apparently listening to the conversation. “He _does_ charter planes more often than not though. And he owns, like, a fleet of cars. And a yacht.”

 

“See,” Baekhyun huffs again. “No one spends three billion Won on cars alone unless they’re super rich. And here—” Baekhyun hands Kyungsoo his iPad, practically shoving the screen in front of Kyungsoo’s eyes. “—Here’s what his flat in Monaco looks like. And he’s got more—a large estate in Switzerland, a loft in New York, and properties in South Korea. His parents went back when he’s, like, successful enough. Retirement and all that.”

 

Kyungsoo stares, a little in amazement, a little in disbelief, at the beautiful place displayed on the iPad, all windows and glittering view of the ocean. It’s clean-looking, minimalist without being boring, and his eyes bug out of their sockets when he sees its estimated value.

 

“Scroll more,” Baekhyun whispers. 

 

Kyungsoo does what he’s told and there’s a slideshow of the cars Jongin owns—McLaren, Mercedes, Ferrari, Lamborghini, in multiples, in different colors.

 

“Don’t you think this is a little absurd,” he says. There’s a small paragraph approximating Jongin’s net worth and his salary, like an afterthought, like it’s a given. Jongin makes more in one season than what Kyungsoo has made in his entire career.

 

“Yeah,” Baekhyun shakes his head.

 

“You’d think we’re not getting paid enough,” Junmyeon mutters, resigned.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Indonesia croons a different song than South Korea or Japan or China or any other country Kyungsoo’s been in to for a schedule. Timezones provide a unique DNA to the makeup of coordinates and Jakarta gives a different thrill than Manila or Taipei. There’s a sense of non-belonging—Kyungsoo’s always going to be tourist without a home.

 

The members are all wrung tired from the flight. On the way to the hotel, Kyungsoo remembers to finally turn the flight mode off of his phone. It pings diligently—seven messages from Jongin.

 

_finally! i thought you’ll never google me._

 

_sorry, my korean is awkward. i’ve never really used the keyboard before._

 

_are you still in the plane? have a nice flight :D_

 

_text me once you landed so i know you’re safe okay?_

 

_i miss you already :( is that possible? i want to see you again._

 

_i want to watch your concert. i’m an exo-l already!!_

 

_kyungsoo TTTT i have to go back to europe in four days :( the season’s about to start in a month. i’ve extended my break already……_

 

Minseok eyes his phone like it’s going to explode any minute and Kyungsoo almost jumps from his seat when it pings again. Sehun looks half-way between smug and annoyed.

 

_did you get there safely? twitter says you’ve landed already. i have a surprise for you._

 

Kyungsoo allows himself to smile at the message, typing a _yeah_ before sending it. He taps the message box again, sending a photo of himself with Chanyeol, Baekhyun, and Yixing photobombing in the background, and asks what the surprise is.

 

Jongin replies with a bunch of heart emojis and a selca of himself making a secret gesture, forefinger pressed on his lips and his right eye in a wink. It looks funny. Jongin cannot wink properly.

 

Kyungsoo feels light and weightless, heart beating fast and cheeks warming up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hotel rooms are notorious for being drab and lifeless. Kyungsoo’s been used to the white walls and the white sheets and the white carpet since 2012. The thing about hotel rooms is that they look the same whether in Beijing or Tokyo or, in this case, Jakarta. He stumbles inside, followed by his designated roommate, Jongdae. The older man bumps into Kyungsoo.

 

“What’s wrong?” Jongdae yawns, peeking from behind the motionless man. His eyes widen in awe. “Wow. That’s— _wow_.”

 

There’s a large bouquet of red roses resting on the foot of the bed. The diameter spans almost the width of the mattress. Jongdae crows in delight before rushing out of the room. Kyungsoo distantly hears him calling for the members and their staff.

 

There are easily a hundred roses. Kyungsoo sees red and only red before he notices a white something nestled in between the roses. He plucks it and turns it around.

 

_Twelve dozen for the number you always use and the number of days that had passed since your eyes met mine in between a pink dress and a yellow pantsuit. I’m not sure how much you like roses but hotel rooms are almost always white in color—I hope you like red?_

 

Kyungsoo traces the _Jongin_ signed on the bottom of the unscented card and he smiles wide at the doodle of an F1 car beside the younger man’s name. Vaguely, Kyungsoo hears gasps from the staff and his members but he cannot bring himself to care when he brushes his lips on the message.

 

The red of the flowers looks beautiful against the monochrome of the standard room. Kyungsoo knows his lips are pulled into a smile. He reads the note again—Jongin has ugly handwriting.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo has a lull between one concert and the next. There’s a week of almost nothing between Jakarta and Dalian and Jongin quickly takes the opportunity to ask Kyungsoo on a date.

 

A day after the singer has gone back to Korea, Kyungsoo says he’s free around the evening. Jongin asks if he’s fine with a dinner and a movie at home and he’s relieved when the older man replies with three thumbs up emoji and a _see you._ The heart he has added sends a pleasant warmth to the butterflies in Jongin’s stomach. 

 

Jongin has offered to pick the other man up but Kyungsoo has declined, saying it’s easier to keep everything low when they don’t use Jongin’s red hot Ferrari. He feels nervous, it’s been so long since he has asked someone out on a date. Jongin is by no means the typical pro-athlete playboy stereotype but his job has proven to be difficult in terms of keeping personal relationships.

 

Men and women are a quick study in clandestine meetings in crowded dance floors or celebratory parties. Models come and go with their soft kisses and promises of _I’ll call_ even if they never do. Jongin doesn’t bother.

 

But, somehow, he wants to please Kyungsoo. He wants to impress Kyungsoo. He wants to bring him to his races, wants to wake up with the older man on his soft bed while the Monte Carlo sun throws rainbow on Kyungsoo’s pale skin—or maybe in Switzerland, Kyungsoo seems to like comfortable silence. He wants Kyungsoo on the passenger side of whatever car he feels like driving, wants to let Kyungsoo drive him around and drive him insane.

 

Jongin knows two weeks is a little too fast but he’s never been one for slowing down.

 

The chef he has hired places the meal inside the oven before leaving him with instructions. He can’t cook that much but he’s sure he won’t be able to screw up taking the food out once it’s done. He’s already dressed in black slacks and a designer button down. Jongin hopes Kyungsoo likes Armani as much as he does.

 

His phone vibrates with a text from Kyungsoo saying he’s already near. Jongin smoothes his clothes down on instinct, telling Kyungsoo to get himself dropped off on one of the floors reserved for parking, the security of the building already informed of his arrival.

 

Jongin goes down after Kyungsoo replies an affirmative. His hands are clammy where he’s waiting in front of the elevator. Jongin feels thirty minutes have passed when, in reality, it’s only been ten. A black van stops a few feet away, Kyungsoo getting out quickly and exchanging words with someone inside that Jongin cannot hear. There’s loud pounding in his ears.

 

“Hi,” Kyungsoo greets him. He’s carrying a bouquet of flowers in darker shade of pink like Kyungsoo’s heart lips. Jongin wants to kiss Kyungsoo when the man hands him the arrangement.

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

Kyungsoo pauses. Jongin wants to slap himself for making it awkward but then the older man breaks into a fit of giggles before it turns into full-blown laughter. Kyungsoo throws his head back in happiness and Jongin thinks maybe his lack of filter and his Kyungsoo-related stupidity is worth it if it means the other man gets chest-heaving guffaws every time.

 

The older man’s hand rests on one of Jongin’s bicep. Jongin thinks Kyungsoo gets clingy when he’s truly having fun and the man looks up at him with a heart-shaped smile and crescent eyes.

 

Jongin playfully pouts. “Can I get a kiss now?”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head in amusement before slightly rising on his feet. Soft lips meet Jongin’s own. It’s short and sweet and innocent—everything a first date kiss should be.

 

“I don’t think we’re supposed to kiss before the date,” Kyungsoo comments once they’re both inside the elevator going up to Jongin’s floor. 

 

Jongin winds the arm that’s not holding the bouquet around Kyungsoo’s waist, pinching the slight fat there and relishing on Kyungsoo’s yelp and glare.

 

“It’s because you got me flowers,” Jongin nuzzles his lips on the side of Kyungsoo’s head when the smaller male has calmed down. Kyungsoo makes him feel like he’s about to melt anytime. “It’s the first time I got one.”

 

Kyungso snakes one of his hands so it’s also resting on Jongin’s waist. Jongin’s not sure if the position is romantic but he likes the press of Kyungsoo’s body against his.

 

The singer turns his head to press a soft kiss on Jongin’s jaw, etching the words with his whisper on Jongin’s tan skin, “You deserve all the flowers in the world.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo is a great storyteller.

 

He has been steadily talking to Jongin about his career and Jongin admires how Kyungsoo seems so passionate about his job just as much as Jongin is to being a race car driver. He hears about Kyungsoo relaying stories of his travels and concerts abroad, his own members’ antics, their fans, their staff—everything and anything really. 

 

Kyungsoo looks so beautiful underneath the lights of his dining room, even if he has not done anything particularly special to his looks.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Jongin breathes out. Kyungsoo halts his story about Junmyeon, Suho, wearing a wig.

 

“You don’t have much filter, do you?” Kyungsoo says with a small grin. Jongin shakes his head childishly and Kyungsoo chuckles before taking a sip of the full-bodied red Jongin has picked for the night. He places the glass down, noting, “I think I’ve been talking a lot.”

 

“I like hearing you talk,” Jongin replies honestly. “You have a nice voice and your stories are fascinating.”

 

Kyungsoo grins, “Thanks. But I do want to hear more about you. You can find a lot of things about me online but I can’t seem to make sense of what you do.” There’s a shy smile on Kyungsoo’s face before he adds, a little ruefully, “I don’t think I’m into sports that much. I hate sweating.”

 

Jongin laughs lightly, “Formula One can be a little confusing. Though, for the record, we’re just a bunch of dudes driving around in deathtraps.”

 

“That’s what Baekhyun said too,” Kyungsoo points out. As if remembering something, he adds, “And I can’t believe you followed them on instagram.”

 

“I have to!” Jongin defends. “You don’t have one and I have to win their hearts too, you know.”

 

“You’ve won it already,” Kyungsoo grumbles.

 

There’s a bit of comfortable silence punctuated only by the sounds of the silverware clinking against expensive porcelain. Jongin sees Kyungsoo stealing glances at him with a small smile playing on his plump lips. He’s sure he’s doing the same, aware of the warmth on his cheeks. He prays he’s not blushing that much but it seems to be a lost cause.

 

“I have to fly back to Europe tomorrow night,” Jongin says, breaking the serenity of the dinner. Kyungsoo looks up from where he’s slicing his steak, eyes wide and curious. A little guarded. “The season’s about to start in three weeks. March 20. It’s the same day as the last day of Exo’luxion Dot, right?”

 

“Your an EXO-L,” Kyungsoo teases and then his face turns serious. “Um—We’re going to be both busy and—I don’t know—but what do you want to do? About us? This?”

 

Kyungsoo gestures his hand in between them and Jongin catches the man’s swinging hands in the cradle of his palm. He brings it on his lips. There isn’t really much doubt to the answer to Kyungsoo’s question.

 

“I’d like to try,” he murmurs against Kyungsoo’s knuckles before placing the hand on the table, gripping it firmly. “I want to get to know you better. I know I’ve met you only two weeks ago but—Kyungsoo, please give me a chance. We’ll have Skype dates and I’d fly to Korea or wherever you are as much as I can.”

 

Jongin feels the earth gets taken under him when Kyungsoo withdraws his hand. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth and Jongin’s heart beats fast in fright and anxiety. Kyungsoo is looking down at his plate and Jongin waits with bated breath until, finally, Kyungsoo nods.

 

“Really?” Jongin shouts in excitement.

 

Kyungsoo’s lips are in a heart with the length of his smile. “Yes.”

 

Jongin stands up and rounds the table, pulling a surprised Kyungsoo into a big hug before kissing his forehead.

 

“I’d do my best,” Jongin promises.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo stays the night. 

 

Nothing happens. They trade kisses on top of Jongin’s bed. Kyungsoo’s wearing one of Jongin’s shirts and the taller man’s boxer shorts are tight on Kyungsoo’s thighs. Kyungsoo’s a little embarrassed when they settle down on the bed but he quickly spoons Jongin, running his short fingers on the other man’s hair. Jongin pats Kyungsoo’s soft tummy, glad that the older man is not protesting. They fall asleep like that, Jongin’s head pillowed on Kyungsoo’s chest and Kyungsoo hugging Jongin like he’s something precious.

 

Jongin’s fine. They’re fine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jongin wakes up to the feeling of Kyungsoo’s hands on his head. The singer is playing with Jongin’s dyed hair.

 

“Good morning,” he greets. He peels himself away from Kyungsoo, rising up so he’s pressing a kiss on the other man’s cheek.

 

“Your hair is brown,” Kyungsoo says. “When I first met you I wondered what color it was. I couldn’t tell because of the flashing lights.”

 

Jongin shakes his head in amusement. “We’re not all celebrities here with changing hair colors,” he pauses and then, smirking, “Though I can’t say much about you. You’re always brunette.”

 

“it’s ‘cause of me acting,” Kyungsoo responds, rolling off of the bed and walking away. Jongin follows after him, their hands finding one another. Kyungsoo adds, “Besides, I don’t think I’ll look good with blue hair.”

 

“I personally think you’ll look good in any hair color,” Jongin provides solemnly. He might have been a little biased but Kyungsoo can dye his hair rainbow like one of his bandmates has done and he’ll still cheer him on.

 

“Nah,” Kyungsoo shakes his head. “I’m not ready for anything too wild.”

 

Jongin motions for Kyungsoo to sit down, preparing the both of them cereals. “I like you wild.”

 

Jongin hears Kyungsoo choke on nothing but air and he mouths a sorry when he sets down their cereal bowls.

 

“Fancy,” Kyungsoo teases. His cheeks are a little pink from his earlier fit but he doesn’t look like he’s going to punch Jongin for the comment. “Where’s the person who prepared the dinner and dessert last night?”

 

“I only hired him for a day,” Jongin blurts out before he slaps his hand on his mouth. “I didn’t say that.”

 

Kyungsoo smirks, “You got someone to cook for you last night? Is that why you’re not answering my questions about meal preparations?”

 

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin whines. He takes a spoonful of cereal and chews mutinously. He swallows and then mumbles, a little ashamed, “I don’t really know how to cook anything fancy.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head in what Jongin hopes is fond exasperation, “I’ll cook for the both of us next time.”

 

Jongin cannot help the big grin stretching from one ear to the other with the mention of a _next time_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

El Prat bustles with activity the moment Jongin has landed in Barcelona for the test drive. Mercedes does have people for that, but Jongin’s known if not for his driving then for his methodical routine of hands-on preparation. March rolls around like a looming death sentence, the beginning of the season has always been the most hectic.

 

He checks his phone and smiles at the simple _fighting, jongin_ message from Kyungsoo. The older man has sent a selfie to go with that, a soft smile and a raised fist. Jongin snaps a picture of himself sticking his tongue out, sending that one to the singer, unmindful of the time difference. Kyungsoo will see it when he sees it. Spamming each other with random messages even without replies is something that’s beginning to form into a habit. 

 

Mercedes has gone all out with this one, Jongin muses as he adoringly gazes at the machine. The F1 W07 Hybrid is a sleek beauty. Jongin takes a picture before sending it to Kyungsoo. The other man is still a little confused about the mechanics of Formula One racing but he has promised to study as much as he can. Jongin’s heart bursts in happiness at the thought of Kyungsoo immersing himself in something that he has loved since he’s seven or eight years old.

 

He greets his team familiarly. The english slides off of his tongue better than Korean and the track feels like another kind of home even when everything moves in unbelievable speed. Jongin sends one last text to Kyungsoo, telling the man about driving the new F1, before lightly brushing his lips on the screen of his phone where an HD photo of Kyungsoo is displayed as his home screen. It’s from one of his fansites—Kyungsoo’s head is thrown back mid-laughter, his eyes have disappeared in curved slits and his lips a big heart.

 

Jongin’s heart races.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon sidles up to him. It’s the first day to their three-day encore concert. “Did you know that Kim Jongin sends food support to fans attending encore?”

 

Kyungsoo barely twitches in his seat. The makeup artist sprays something on his face before she pats his back gently. The younger turns to Junmyeon, eyes wide, “Uh—What?”

 

The leader sighs, “Fans are talking about this amazing food truck and no one knows who this certain #88. That’s Jongin’s _number_ , right?”

 

Kyungsoo snatches his phone from the table, pulling up his conversation with Jongin. The younger man has not said anything about giving food support. He types a question and, before long, he’s getting a FaceTime video call from the younger man. Junmyeon’s eyebrows pinch together but he doesn’t say anything, opting to turn away.

 

“Hi, Kyungsoo,” Jongin grins. “You’re just in time. I just finished practice.”

 

“How’s it?” Kyungsoo asks.

 

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Jongin says, running his hand to muss his hair where his helmet has flattened it down. Kyungsoo helplessly smiles when Jongin moves his camera around, trying to find a better angle. Behind him, Kyungsoo sees a lot of people moving this way and that. “And, uh, yeah. I sent a food truck for your fans.”

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Kyungsoo sighs in half-reprimand. The Australian Grand Prix is in three days and, while Kyungsoo is thankful for the support, he doesn’t really want Jongin getting distracted.

 

“But I want to,” Jongin insists. Kyungsoo watches as the younger sits down and someone out of the camera hands him a water bottle. Kyungsoo hears a male voice telling Jongin congratulations. “And I looked up ways that fans can show their support and sending food seems to be the most popular.”

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo answers. He rests his phone on the mirror in front of him before he leans closer to the camera. “But it’s the start of your season.”

 

Jongin looks at him sharply, as if scolding, says, “And it’s your encore. I don’t think mine is more important that what you’re doing, Kyungsoo.”

 

Kyungsoo’s heart clenches inside his chest. Jongin’s right. Their jobs are not competing against each other. He nods and smiles softly at Jongin at that, the other man returning it with a bright grin of his own.

 

“Now—” Jongin sinks more comfortably on his seat. “Tell me about how nervous you are.”

 

Kyungsoo does.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On the last day of the encore, Jongin fills EXO’s dressing room with clear buckets heaping with long-stemmed lilies. The red of Cartier stands out among the white petals on the largest arrangement. Kyungsoo opens the box to find a simple bracelet made of gold. He picks up the card nestled in between the velvet, smiling at the message.

 

_Congratulations on finishing Exo’luxion. I hope I can attend your next tour but, for now, this will have to do. We can both have something gold this day._

 

_Love,_

_Jongin_

 

 

* * *

 

 

SM is kind enough to afford EXO eight days of rest after their first world tour. The higher-ups in the agency have personally expressed their approval after the success of Exo’luxion. Jongin has less than two weeks before he has to fly to Sakhir for the Bahrain Grand Prix. 

 

Kyungsoo packs light and hops on a flight to the French Riviera. He doesn’t have a manager but he can’t exactly go alone. Sehun gets the honor of tagging along among all of the members. The hours bleed through each other the way they always do when time differences start blurring and disappearing.

 

They land in Côte d’Azur Airport in Nice and they’re hustled immediately to the helicopter service to Monaco. Kyungsoo feels a little groggy but Sehun assures him that the man leading the two of them on the chopper is carrying a sign with Kyungsoo’s name in Korean and a doodle of an F1 car.

 

Sehun passes the time taking pictures and selfies inside the chopper. This is both their first time and Kyungsoo watches Sehun’s face light up at the VIP treatment they’re getting.

 

“Hyung,” Sehun whispers on the older’s ear. “Your boyfriend is really something, huh?”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head. Jongin doesn’t know how to cook and he can barely park his car. He might have been one of the highest paid athletes in the world but he’s also the same man who takes photos of dogs he passes by. He’s not sure if he says that to Sehun but the younger pats Kyungsoo’s head indulgently with a small smile, closing his eyes.

 

He’s rudely awaken by Sehun’s shaking and his excited exclamations of “We’re here! We’re here!” The moment they get down from the helicopter, Kyungsoo is swaddled by strong arms wrapping around his frame.

 

“I miss you!” Jongin half-screams. His eyes are curving upwards with the intensity of his smile. Kyungsoo feels Jongin’s energy steal the sleepiness induced by flight miles. “I thought you’ll never get here.”

 

Kyungsoo feels like he’s still underwater so he presses a kiss on Jongin’s lips. The other man eagerly returns it with enthusiastic fervor and they only break because Sehun coughs on his palm.

 

Jongin smiles, extending his hand, “Kim Jongin. Nice to meet you.”

 

“Oh Sehun,” Kyungsoo’s bandmate offers. Kyungsoo looks at Sehun imploringly, the younger man has put on a straight face. He appears nonchalant and unfazed. Kyungsoo snorts.

 

“Stop pretending you’re not excited, Sehun,” he admonishes. Sehun colors bright red and he grumbles, stomping his feet on the ground like the child that he sometimes still is. Jongin just laughs, leading them to where his Mercedes SUV is parked.

 

Jongin’s flat in Monte Carlo is as fancy as the photos online. Sehun gets the guest bedroom and Kyungsoo hits the younger’s bicep when Jongin leads the singer inside the masters’ suite. Kyungsoo bonelessly dives on the soft mattress and he hears Jongin laughing slightly before the man pulls Kyungsoo’s shoes off.

 

He vaguely feels Jongin changing him out of clothes that smell like the inside of the plane. Jongin leaves him in his boxers but the man slips on a fresh shirt on Kyungsoo before he settles down beside the smaller man. Kyungsoo snuggles on Jongin’s chest. Jongin’s carding his long fingers in on Kyungsoo’s hair, humming something under his breath. Kyungsoo feels like giggling when he realizes it’s Growl. Jongin’s been listening to their discography in his endeavor of being “Kyungsoo’s biggest fan”.

 

Time catches up to the exhaustion in his veins. The pressure of the concert and the toll the tour has taken on his mental and physical state come crashing down like the waves he can hear from a distance. Kyungsoo falls asleep like that but he doesn’t mind—he’ll fly half-way across the world if he gets to be in Jongin’s arms.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo wakes up to Jongin’s fingers still moving through his hair, the tips slightly massaging his scalp in a relaxing manner. He feels like a drowning man trying to come out of the water. Sleep chases after him but the thought of sleeping away the limited time he has with Jongin is enough of a motivation to open his eyes.

 

“What time is it?” He asks. 

 

Jongin stops his ministrations, twisting to look at the clock on the bedside table. “Around three in the afternoon. You’ve been asleep for four hours.”

 

Kyungsoo groans, “I’m hungry.”

 

Jongin smiles down at him indulgently, “We both missed lunch. Do you want to go out?”

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo replies. “I want to sightsee.”

 

“Go take a shower then. I’ll tell Sehun.”

 

Jongin stands and pulls Kyungsoo up, hands coming to pat the older’s butt before ushering him to the shower. Kyungsoo disappears inside the spacious bathroom but he doesn’t have the time to marvel at interior design when he’s buzzing with excitement about finally spending time with Jongin.

 

He takes a thorough shower, smiling at the idea of using the younger’s bath products. The scent is not something he’ll choose out of a selection but it’s pleasant nonetheless—expensive, fragrant. He gets out of the warm spray and brushes his teeth; there’s a spare still inside its box resting on the counter. Kyungsoo knows Jongin has prepared everything the moment Kyungsoo says he’s going to visit Jongin in Monte Carlo.

 

He’s toweling himself when Jongin enters the bedroom again.

 

“Sehun’s already eaten and he says he’ll sleep a bit more.” Kyungsoo hums in acknowledgement, walking around the room searching for his luggage.

 

Finding none, he asks, “Where are my clothes?”

 

Jongin comes up to him, wrapping his arms around Kyungsoo’s waist. He’s playing with the belt of the fluffy bathrobe Kyungsoo has slipped himself into. Kyungsoo swats Jongin’s hand and wiggles, turning to give a playful glare to the teasing man.

 

Jongin pushes him to the direction of the white French doors, explaining, “Already unpacked them for you.” The younger man gestures towards a corner of his walk-in-closet where, sure enough, Kyungsoo’s clothes are hung and neatly folded.

 

“Thanks.” Kyungsoo pecks Jongin on the lips before dressing up in comfortable shorts and a thin shirt. 

 

“Let’s go?”

 

“Hold up. I want to check on Sehun.”

 

Jongin smiles before he pushes Kyungsoo out of the masters’ suite, leading the shorter man into the guest bedroom where Sehun’s sleeping, sprawled on the bed wearing his bright pink underwear.

 

Kyungsoo turns to Jongin in mortification, “I swear he’s the same age as you.”

 

Jongin laughs, pulling Kyungsoo out. They make their way to where some of Jongin’s cars are parked and Kyungsoo’s eyes are wide with surprise at the number of choices.

 

“Take your pick,” Jongin offers. The last time Kyungsoo has seen something like this is for the Call Me Baby filming.

 

“These are all yours?” 

 

“Yup!” Jongin pops the _p_ a little. “We can take whatever car you want out.”

 

Kyungsoo turns to Jongin and, feeling courageous, asks the question that’s been plaguing his mind since learning the number of car Jongin owns. “Why do you have these many cars when you can only drive one at a time?”

 

Kyungsoo watches as Jongin turns still, mouth opening and closing, before the younger man snorts and then he’s off into loud chortles. 

 

“Oh God—Kyungsoo,” Jongin struggles to get out. “That’s—Oh God.”

 

“It’s not that funny,” Kyungsoo protests. “It’s a valid question.”

 

Jongin tries to control his breathing. “I actually don’t know. I like cars and I like driving—I never really thought about that.”

 

Kyungsoo huffs a little, crossing his chest in mock irritation. The glare he’s trying to shoot towards Jongin is ineffective when he feel the corners of his lips trembling, threatening to stretch into a wild smile.

 

Jongin supports his own body weight on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, still grinning, he asks, “So, which car, Kyungsoo? I’m trying to impress you here.”

 

Kyungsoo remembers their first date when Jongin has admitted that he wants to impress him, when the younger promises to do his best to know Kyungsoo. He grins, “Which one is the convertible then?”

 

The answering grin on Jongin’s face, Kyungsoo decides, is the best thing in all of Monaco.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo’s on the passenger side of Jongin’s Lamborghini Aventador _something_ —the fancy name eludes Kyungsoo’s uneducated tongue. The roof of the vehicle is down and Jongin will steal a glance at him every time there’s a lax in traffic or pedestrian. Kyungsoo never takes his eyes off of the younger man.

 

The sunlight reflects off of the silver of the chrome plates. The tires glide with purpose on the cement roads and wealth spills on the rubber and the carbon fibre of the machine. Kyungsoo has one of Jongin’s hands in his. 

 

“What do you want to eat?” Jongin twists the wheel with one hand so they turn left in a quiet road. Kyungsoo wonders if it’s an unusual time for tourists to visit Monaco or if Jongin’s purposefully trying to use the quieter streets.

 

“Ice cream,” Kyungsoo automatically answers.

 

Jongin cranks his neck sideways, “For lunch, Kyungsoo.”

 

He sticks his tongue out in disagreement. “But I want ice cream. I haven’t eaten a lot of sweets lately since I need to watch my weight.”

 

Jongin cracks at that. If anything, Jongin also knows the additional stress of maintaining a certain physicality. The taller man sighs, “Okay. We’ll go get ice cream for lunch.”

 

Kyungsoo wiggles in his seat happily and he sees Jongin’s lips quirk upwards.

 

“You’re lucky you’re you.”

 

“But I’m luckier to have you,” Kyungsoo counters, cheekily smiling at Jongin even if the other man won’t see.

 

The car lurches to a stop.

 

“Wait. Wh—”

 

Jongin presses his lips on Kyungsoo, one hand on the back of his head to be _closer, closer, closer_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo pays for the largest cup of ice cream—gelato, really. Jongin hangs around the back of the shop, unable to get something because his in-season diet. Kyungsoo feels bad so he pulls Jongin in a short kiss when there are no people around.

 

He eats his €7 dessert while sitting down on Jongin’s €470, 000 car. The younger doesn’t seem to mind, telling Kyungsoo to get comfortable on the seat while he drives them around the scenery of Monaco.

 

The country is small; it’s not even a country at all. Jongin parks them somewhere and Kyungsoo can make out the clean straight line of the horizon. They get out of the vehicle and Jongin stuffs Kyungsoo’s head underneath his Mercedes cap just in case. The younger pushes Kyungsoo down so he’s sitting on the hood, Jongin plopping himself beside him.

 

The taste of the gelato is smooth and cold on his tongue. The blue of the sea is clear and beautiful, like a jewel. Kyungsoo shares that to Jongin and the man smiles indulgently.

 

“I guess it’s not new to you,” Kyungsoo remarks, scooping some more of his cool treat. “You live here, after all.” The younger man hums in a non-answer.

 

Jongin rests his head down on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, one of his arms going around Kyungsoo’s torso. He places small kisses on Kyungsoo’s neck and the exposed skin of his shoulders. Kyungsoo scrapes some of the gelato before pushing the dessert in Jongin’s lips. The driver obediently opens his lips, relishing on cheating a bit.

 

They stay like that in silence. Kyungsoo watches the color of the sky shift. His empty dessert cup is on top of the Lamborghini and there’s something ridiculous about Kyungsoo putting his trash on top of a car that’s probably one of 500. 

 

Kyungsoo shivers when one of the Jongin’s hands is on his right knee, crawling upwards to where his shorts have ridden up. Something opens up within him when Jongin, mapping his words on his skin, murmurs against the back of his ear.

 

“Monaco is not this beautiful when you’re not here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo returns to Korea and is met with a flurry of activities. Time seems to move again after the trip they took to Monaco. Jongin has taken him and Sehun yachting in the Mediterranean and they have spent a day in Saint Tropez before they have to fly back.

 

Sehun’s constantly showing off the pictures he has taken—absolutely infuriating and making Chanyeol jealous when he pulls out the ones where he gets to drive some of Jongin’s cars. There’s a video of him most likely illegally cruising on the streets of Monte Carlo, hair dancing in the wind and sunglasses perched on the bridge on his nose.

 

“So,” Baekhyun drawls. “How’s the vacation with your sugar daddy?”

 

Kyungsoo glowers, “Not my sugar daddy.”

 

Baekhyun deadpans, “He flew you in to Monaco, took you out in his 500 million won car, brought you yachting—what is he then? A saint?”

 

The younger scowls but he doesn’t say anything. Jongdae inches closer to them, holding his own phone and looking extra gleeful.

 

“Kyungsoo,” Jongdae coos, making grabby hands at the younger. “Look what the netizens are telling about your little vacation with Kai Kim.”

 

Baekhyun and Kyungsoo cram themselves in front of Jongdae’s phone and Baekhyun erupts into a round of giggles at the comments from people online.

 

“They’re applauding you for your choice of friends!” Baekhyun enthuses. He clutches his stomach with his hand when another fresh fit of giggle bursts out. “They’re wondering which one between you and Sehun Kai Kim is fucking!”

 

Kyungsoo reads the comments with a budding headache. Jongin is infamously bisexual. While there isn’t any official confirmation of his sexuality, the photos of him with men in various states of intimacy is enough proof that he’s not straight.

 

Junmyeon eyes the three of them with worry, his eyes trained to Kyungsoo in particular. “Be careful, okay?” The leader mouths.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jongin loses the first five Grands Prix to his teammate. There’s a sense of pride to the Mercedes they’re both driving but Formula One, and sports in general, is still a battle ground for individual brilliance. He feels like he’s been wrung through, exhausted with creaking bones and aching joints.

 

It’s a Wednesday and his hot tub just finished filling itself up. Jongin grabs a mug of tea and his phone before getting naked and going inside. He taps a few keys, pulling out FaceTime and dialing the one person he wants to talk to right now.

 

Kyungsoo’s name and photo flashes on the screen.

 

Jongin wonders how someone he’s met three months before, in the middle of February, has managed to worm his way into the mundane of Jongin’s everyday. Kyungsoo has become a constant in such a short time. A novelty for someone like Jongin who breathes to win by defying consistencies. 

 

“Hey, Jongin,” Kyungsoo sleepily greets. He’s already in bed, lying sideways, and his glasses are crooked from where it is nestled on the pillow. “You have practice tomorrow, right? For Monaco Grand Prix?”

 

Jongin nods a bit, sinking deeper on the tub. The warm water starts soothing his tired muscles but Kyungsoo’s hazy voice, distorted by the distance and by static, does a better job in making him feel better.

 

There’s silence and Jongin watches Kyungsoo as the older man peers at him from where Jongin’s phone is perched on top of the side table near the tub.

 

He sighs, “Sorry. I’m not that good of a talker right now.”

 

Kyungsoo smiles and shakes his head slightly. He says softly, “It’s okay. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

 

Jongin takes a deep breath, twisting on the tub a little. The water jostles from his movements. Jongin reaches his arms outwards, to his phone. He traces the screen with his forefinger. Water droplets paint longing on Jongin’s iPhone and Kyungsoo, who’s not unused to this routine, closes his eyes for a while. They stay in tranquility like that, Jongin caressing Kyungsoo’s skin like they’re not on different parts of the world.

 

“I’m worried about the race,” he admits. Kyungsoo opens his eyes. They’re partly lidded and Jongin wants to tell Kyungsoo to go to sleep.

 

“Why?” Kyungsoo mumbles.

 

Jongin lets out a harsh puff of air, “I’ve lost the first five, Kyungsoo.”

 

“And so?” Kyungsoo’s stare is unnerving despite the difference in timezones. The sleep momentarily gone with the way his eyes have gone sharp. “You have sixteen more. You have Monaco. You know the track in Monte Carlo like an old family.”

 

“I know. It’s just—”

 

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo interrupts. The younger watches as the other man exhales, sleep creeps on the slight droop of his lids again. “You’re good. You’re one of the best. Your Wikipedia page says you’ve been driving since eight but you told me you’ve been doing this since you’re seven. Your father worked three jobs so you can kart. You’d sneak behind your mother’s back ‘cause you both know she doesn’t like seeing her baby on the race tracks.”

 

Kyungsoo’s voice turns a notch lower, just a little bit on the side of drowsy, “Five out of twenty-one races isn’t bad. You have sixteen other chances to prove to yourself you’re a winner. Remember when you said you’d do your best for me? That’s who you are, Jongin. You do your best and leave everything all to the wind. You get inside your Mercedes and you leave everything all to the wind, okay?”

 

Jongin nods dumbly at Kyungsoo’s groggy speech. He’s not even sure if he understands all of it. The older man’s breath starts evening out and Jongin knows it’s one of those nights with him watching Kyungsoo sleep on the screen of his phone until he too goes to bed or the phone is jostled out of Kyungsoo.

 

Jongin’s about to sink deeper inside the water when Kyungsoo’s sleepy mumbling knocks the wind out of his lungs faster than a hurtling Mercedes has ever done at maximum speed. He thinks it’s an _I love you._

 

He hopes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jongin sweeps the circuits of Monte Carlo and Montreal and Baku. The streak extends to Silverstone in Northamptonshire before he drops third on both Budapest and Hockenheim. He climbs to second in Stavelot and first again in the racing streets of Monza.

 

Kyungsoo congratulates him each time—on the first, on the third, on the second places. Jongin wants to kiss the smug smile off of Kyungsoo’s face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Before long, the season’s almost over. It’s September and there are a little over two months left. Jongin’s packing his things to fly to Singapore and he smiles when he takes out the thing he’s been waiting for for close to two months already.

 

The seller says it’s called Dyolamb.

 

It’s a doll that eerily resembles Kyungsoo and Jongin gets his agent to have someone sew a driving suit similar to his that will fit his new toy. His agent shakes his head in disbelief but complies. Jongin’s planning on surprising Kyungsoo. He’ll fly to South Korea and stay in the country for two days after the Singapore Grand Prix. Kyungsoo’s next concert will be on the 30th.

 

He’s already on a chartered helicopter that will take him out of Monaco when Kyungsoo sends him his customary daily selfie. Jongin has tried asking for two a day but Kyungsoo insists he can only send one. He only sends two, sometimes three, on the days that Jongin has a race. The driver respects his decision and his fear of front cameras, figuring he sends enough for the both of them.

 

That, and Kyungsoo’s members provide quality candid shots of the short vocalist.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On the evening before Jongin’s last practice day. his phone vibrates with a weird message from Kyungsoo asking if he’s free. Jongin gleefully says yes, teasing the older if he needs a good round of phone sex. 

 

It’s better.

 

Kyungsoo needs a driver to pick him up. From the airport. Because he’s in Singapore. To see Jongin race.

 

The younger man dashes in his sweatpants and hoodie, his sneakers not properly tied. The SUV he’s been provided for cannot go fast enough. Jongin jokingly thinks of sneaking the W07, anything to reach Kyungsoo faster.

 

Jongin has lived his life trying to go faster and faster. Tonight, nothing will ever be fast enough.

 

He stops on one of the terminals and Jongin makes an outline of a small man waiting away from where the crowds are. He mentally thanks the fact that he’s driving a plain black SUV—supercars attract too many attention—when Kyungsoo, dressed in all black and a medical mask, slips inside the car.

 

Jongin rips the mask away from Kyungsoo’s face, latching his lips on the older man’s chapped pair. Jongin licks Kyungsoo’s bottom lip and the other is pliant under the taller man’s tongue and teeth. Kyungsoo’s hands are threatening to tug the hair off of Jongin’s scalp with they way he’s pulling at the tendrils.

 

Someone honks behind them. They break off with a surprised laugh.

 

“How fast can you get us to your place?”

 

“Well,” Jongin smirks, remembering the first time they had done this. It seems like too many dreams ago when he’s met Kyungsoo in a fashion show then in posh party and then in a VIP club. The smirk turns into a genuine smile. “It depends on how many traffic laws you want me to break.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jongin wins the Singapore Grand Prix. The Marina Bay Street Circuit zooms by in a flash in front of Jongin’s bright red helmet. The W07 is in top condition. Jongin sets a world record.

 

Kyungsoo’s on the bed inside Jongin’s hotel bedroom, cuddling with the Dyolamb he’s given Jongin so much shit for.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jongin gets them a private plane to South Korea. He kisses the protest off of Kyungsoo’s lips, murmuring about the perks of a bigger bathroom and being alone in the cabin. The older man blushes and bats Jongin away but he doesn’t look as reticent when they’re up in the air and Jongin is stealing Kyungsoo’s breath.

 

They land sometime before lunch and Jongin, with explicit permission, posts a picture of the two of them in the jet. There’s a foot between them on the photo and Jongin snickers like a child when he captions it _good friend._ The foot of space between them on the instagram post has been non-existent when Kyungsoo has spent most of the flight on Jongin’s lap.

 

He drops Kyungsoo off at his dorm. The older man has a schedule to attend to before three in the afternoon. Jongin gets the private car to drive him to a Mercedes dealership. There are gasps when he strolls in and someone entertains him in a heartbeat.

 

Jongin picks a nondescript car that’s a compromise between performance and secrecy. He keeps Kyungsoo’s words in mind—nothing too flashy, tinted black windows, black chrome body, undistinguishable. The man praises his purchase and Jongin hands one of his cards and signs the necessary documents. The person attending his account turns a blind eye on the picture of Kyungsoo tucked neatly inside the confines of Jongin’s designer wallet.

 

He’s surprised to learn that he gets a free parking space with his Gangnam apartment. This is the first time he’s ever needed a car in the monotony of Seoul—the first time he has ever wanted one. He spends the time unpacking and spamming Kyungsoo with dog videos. Dyolamb gets an honorary place on one of the armchairs.

 

Jongin forgets about Monte Carlo or Switzerland or New York or London. In that moment, with Kyungsoo replying with a video of Jongdae and Yixing wrestling each other, South Korea is the only home where he wants to be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jongin won the race but almost lost Kyungsoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kyungsoo may have the hips but he's still not nicole. jongin may have the trophy but he's also not hamilton.
> 
>  
> 
> FEATURING: more pro-athlete tropes, jongin being soft, kyungsoo being softer, adults talking and communicating, a lot of flowers, inappropriate financial management
> 
>  
> 
> WARNING: depictions of sex, very brief mentions of drug use (like one sentence), alcohol consumption, going over the speed limit (does this count?)
> 
>  
> 
> any errors on grammar, spelling, or punctuations are totally the fault of caffeine, sorry. i'll edit this in 24 hrs

Jongin transfers the food from its to-go box to a microwaveable plate, popping the entire thing to heat it up. Kyungsoo has texted him a few minutes ago that he’s close by. The other man has promised to spend as much time with Jongin before the younger man has to fly back to Europe tomorrow night. 

 

There’s an almost disciplined quality to the way they chase after each other—trying to catch two days, four days, even a couple of hours in person—but it’s lost between the spontaneity of the pursuit and the anonymity of waiting in airports. Kyungsoo has flown to Monaco and to Singapore to sleep inside the cradle of Jongin’s arms and Jongin has been in South Korea more times this year than all other years after he’s become a professional athlete, combined.

 

Kyungsoo has that quality, he figures. 

 

He makes Jongin want to be good, be better. Jongin has placed orders for close to a thousand flowers since February. It’s only mid-September and the amount he has racked up over the bouquets and the Cartier jewelry is near-staggering. He wonders how his financial manager will react to the impromptu Mercedes purchase. The poor woman will have a fit.

 

It’s not like him, he remembers his teammate noting. They’re in Austria, on the winding circuits of the Red Bull Ring in Spielberg before practice, and he spies the photo on Jongin’s home screen with an experienced stare of someone who has had his fair share of relationships. Jongin’s older teammate has been a well-known partier, women after women hanging off of his arm and making a home out of the leather buckets of his supercars.

 

“He’s pretty cute,” Jongin’s teammate has commented. “Who’s he?”

 

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin has pronounced carefully, properly, nothing less. There are no secrets in his team even if Jongin’s biggest rival next to himself is his teammate. He adds before locking his phone and stuffing it in his duffel bag, “He’s a singer.”

 

The man has pulled his phone from his own pocket then and he has typed something that Google autocorrects afterwards. The older man skims through the words on a Wikipedia article before he gives Jongin a _look._

 

“A pop star?” He has sounded incredulous, skeptical bordering on mirthful hysterics. “Really, Kai? Of all people to fuck—you chose a pop star? _You_?” Jongin has scowled but his teammate has rallied on. “A pro-athlete and a pop sensation—tell me something I haven’t heard before!”

 

Jongin has sent the older man a glower. “We’re dating,” he growls. “It’s not some damn fling.”

 

The older man has flinched on Jongin’s tone at that. Kai is not known for his temper off of the tracks. He has raised his hands in a placating gesture, smiling in an apology. Jongin has thought then that there’s something to the older man’s smile that he can’t quite make sense of.

 

Maybe it makes sense now—with Jongin, champion Formula One driver, reheating pasta at ten in the evening for Kyungsoo. In South Korea. Even if he has to leave the next evening for Europe.

 

The microwave pings and Jongin burns himself when he takes the plate out. The porcelain hits the marble with a loud noise and he’s glad nothing breaks or chips. Turning the faucet on, he runs the red of his fingers under the cool water and—

 

The doorbell rings.

 

Jongin runs off to open the front door.

 

“Hi.” Kyungsoo steps inside, closing the door. Before Jongin can kiss him, the older man does it himself. His plump lips taste like grape-flavored Gatorade against Jongin’s. Deftly twisting the lock, Kyungsoo breaks their lip-lock with a smile. 

 

There’s something inherently beautiful about this Kyungsoo. He looks tired and worn but there’s a bright twinkle in his eyes that speaks of excitement and passion. The younger admires that about him—Kyungsoo gives it his all as an idol. He spends most of his days exhausting himself for music. Kyungsoo is art in motion. 

 

Jongin runs his pink tongue on his bottom lip, chasing the taste of grape.

 

“I got you dinner,” he says a weighted beat after. He herds Kyungsoo to the kitchen, the older man removing his shoes and neatly arranging it on the entryway. He adds, “I got your favorite Italian place to pack the food to go.”

 

Kyungsoo scrunches his eyebrows, confused, “I thought they didn’t do take-aways?”

 

Jongin winks. Both his eyes look close anyway, with the way he’s smiling big and his eyes into arched slits. Kyungsoo laughs deeply, rounding the corner to the kitchen, mumbling a _you look ugly_. Jongin grins, the restaurant doesn’t do take-outs, not really, but they’re more than willing enough for Kai Kim. He tells that to Kyungsoo and the shorter eyes him with disdain and a twist on his mouth, making a hilarious face.

 

“Jongin!” The older man suddenly screams, forefinger training somewhere. Jongin startles, turning to where Kyungsoo’s finger is leveled at, dashing.

 

In his haste, Jongin has left the tap open.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jongin plays Kyungsoo like a fiddle late at night—early morning. Time is borderline imaginary to the point of non-existence when Kyungsoo spreads himself under the cage of Jongin’s body. The older man’s pale skin brightens up to luminescence with the dim fluorescent light just above the headboard. There’s an applause somewhere dedicated to his interior decorators when the impeccable lighting fixtures make Kyungsoo appear ethereal, otherworldly, like he’s something Jongin cannot comprehend in his entirety. Something he cannot fathom. Something he can only worship.

 

So Jongin does.

 

Kyungsoo’s lying on the bed languidly like he’s waiting to be serviced. Jongin starts on the bottom of Kyungsoo’s foot. He holds it on his hand gently, kissing the curvature before his lips trail to the other man’s ankle. Jongin’s kneeling in between Kyungsoo’s legs and he raises one limb to place a series of caresses upwards with the brush of his mouth.

 

Jongin stops on Kyungsoo’s inner thigh, sinking lower with a purpose. He feels himself grow hard from the intensity of the singer’s gaze and he gives small nibbles on the expanse of flesh he can reach—the juncture of Kyungsoo’s hip, his belly, everywhere that tastes like Kyungsoo. Jongin pours lube on his hand, letting the excess drip on the crack between the older man’s ass cheeks.

 

Jongin swallows Kyungsoo’s entire length and the other breaks his breathy murmurs of _yes, yes,_ and _fuck_ to release a loud moan the reverberates on Jongin’s chest cavity with pride. Kyungsoo’s hands move to clutch on Jongin’s hair and the shorter man moves in time with the up and down of Jongin’s head on his member. 

 

The younger wants to please and to pleasure and his lubed hand creeps on the wetness starting from the skin of Kyungsoo’s balls to his twitching rim. He slips one finger inside and moans around Kyungsoo’s dick from the scorching heat and the tightness around his index finger. Kyungsoo groans a prayer to God and Jongin slips another digit inside Kyungsoo’s warmth. He begins pumping them in and out and his thumb scrapes the skin on Kyungsoo’s opening.

 

Jongin has yet to put the third finger in when Kyungsoo spills inside Jongin’s mouth just as the younger hums around the pulsating hardness. The taller man tries to swallow everything but he ends up coughing some. White paints the tan skin around Jongin’s mouth, dribbling on his neck and chest. Kyungsoo sits upright and licks his own come on Jongin’s sweaty skin.

 

Jongin lets himself be flipped and Kyungsoo is a familiar weight sitting on top of him. His hands spread the pre-cum steadily leaking from Jongin’s cock and his palm is soft from where it’s wrapped around the younger’s wide girth. Kyungsoo moves it up and down, thumbing the slit with enough pressure that Jongin sees stars even before he releases. Kyungsoo tightens his hold on the base and he scrapes blunt fingernails on the skin near the jut of Jongin’s pelvis. Three angry red lines get tattooed in a mark of seduction riddled with excitement.

 

Kyungsoo flicks his wrist just so and Jongin comes with a shout half-way muffled by Kyungsoo’s kiss. The older man moves lower and sinks his mouth in an open-mouthed kiss where Jongin’s come has created streaks on his skin. Kyungsoo licks and cleans Jongin like that before he slumps down on top of the younger man.

 

Jongin lets the singer catch his breath before the shorter man rolls away from him. His back hits the mattress to occupy the space beside the younger. Their legs tangle like mismatched puzzle pieces from the same picture—the gold of Jongin’s skin to the silver of Kyungsoo’s. The older man turns on his side and his finger is quick to poke the two moles on Jongin’s stomach, separated by the distance created by the stretched ridges of bulging muscle. Kyungsoo laughs when he points out that he has the same moles and Jongin bolts upright at the knowledge.

 

Kyungsoo is saying the truth—there are two moles on his stomach, the same position as his. Jongin’s lips become the cartographer creating a map of constellations using Kyungsoo’s beauty marks littering on his skin, trying to memorize the typography of Kyungsoo’s endlessness.

 

Before long, the both of them are hard again and Jongin opens Kyungsoo with his tongue and his fingers before he pushes his cock inside the welcoming heat. It’s languorous but not tedious and he giggles when Kyungsoo tires to kiss him square on the mouth, missing and planting one on his chin instead.

 

It’s slow and unhurried and different. They both reach climax at almost the same time with noises eaten by their mouths on each other. The relaxed rhythm is exhilarating despite the fact that the only time Jongin has ever felt in motion is when something hurtles at 375 kilometers per hour.

 

He figures this is how it feels to have the world stop.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s almost six in the morning when Jongin wakes up to the incessant buzzing on his phone from the bedside table. Kyungsoo’s naked and hugging him from behind like a small backpack, one short leg and one short arm thrown over his person. The phone vibrates again four times and Jongin’s tempted to throw it to the wall when the beginning of the song for his teammate trills across the quiet of the apartment. 

 

Kyungsoo stirs and makes annoyed grumbling noises so Jongin picks the phone and answers the call.

 

“Get your ass back here,” his teammate barks. Jongin is about to reply but the man has hung up before he can even protest. He takes the screen away from his ear and he sees 3 missed calls from his agent and seven text messages. A little dumbfounded, he swipes his fingers on one of the balloon notifications. The messages have gone from polite to increasingly distressed—half threatening and half threatened.

 

It seems that he has a flight to catch.

 

Jongin groans and pries Kyungsoo’s limbs off of him. The man starts to come to it, making tiny whining noises. His eyes are barely opened. 

 

“Go back to sleep,” Jongin whispers. His lips brush minutely on the mole he shares with the older man on his ear.

 

“Where are you going?” Kyungsoo asks. His voice is raspy from sleep but he manages to fully detach himself from Jongin, legs untangling. He pulls the blanket closer, trying to sit up straight but failing.

 

“I have to fly out now.” Jongin is sorry, very much so. He has promised a lazy day with Kyungsoo, but it’s not like he can help it. There’s a first class ticket already purchased for him. “It’s an emergency.”

 

Kyungsoo tries to sit up again. “I’ll go with you.”

 

Jongin kisses the idol’s forehead. It’s a nice suggestion but Kyungsoo looks like he won’t be able to brush his teeth with the heaviness on his limbs.

 

“It’s okay,” Jongin assures. “Just rest here.”

 

Kyungsoo is seemingly ready to protest but he gives out another large yawn. His eyelids are falling down with the need to go back to sleep again. He shakes his head before surging to peck Jongin’s lips with a simple kiss. The younger deepens the exchange, body curving downwards while Kyungsoo inclines back.

 

Kyungsoo breaks it off when he falls asleep, mid-kiss.

 

Jongin attempts to silence his loud guffaws so the older man doesn’t wake up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jongin gives a sleeping Kyungsoo a kiss on the lips before he leaves. The man doesn’t stir and Jongin’s about to head off when he thinks about Kyungsoo getting lonely. He leans down again to place one more kiss, and then one more, and one more, and one more—just because.

 

He ends up kissing Kyungsoo twelve more times and then, realizing that thirteen is an unlucky number, he kisses the older man again.

 

And then one more time, telling himself it’s the last. Fifteen seems like a better number than fourteen, Jongin justifies.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo wakes up like he’s being pulled out of murky water, slow and a struggle of effort. The other side of the bed has gone cold and he wonders where Jongin is before remembering early morning sunlight and kisses exchanged in apology and goodbye and hello and for nothing at all. Both of them like kissing, love kissing each other.

 

He gets out of the bed, dressing himself in a shirt and boxers, before heading to the kitchen. Jongin’s Gangnam apartment is an exercise in modernity with its clean lines. Everything appears like a statue that no one is able to touch. It’s a good reflection of a rich man too lazy, too unknowledgeable, to leave parts of himself inside interiors. It’s as good as a hotel room, impersonality carved within the monochrome.

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t like how lifeless the apartment is now that Jongin’s gold doesn’t overflow all-over the place.

 

Dragging himself across the hardwood floors, he goes to the fridge first. At the very least, Jongin’s apartment is now well stocked. Someone must have been maintaining the place in top condition when the athlete is away.

 

Something catches his attention when he grabs the milk from the shelf.

 

A key. And a note.

 

_Kyungsoo, sorry for leaving you alone on our supposed day-off. Text me once you’re awake. Your phone’s on the kitchen counter; I’m sure you didn’t even notice that! I even bought a new car yesterday so I can drive you around but—I guess you can just use the Mercedes if you want. Key’s also on the counter beside your phone._

 

_The one in the fridge is the key to my apartment since I don’t want you to knock anymore. I don’t want the tap to flood my kitchen. Come over anytime! Even if I’m not there._

 

_Already missing you,_

_Jongin_

 

_P.S Putting this inside the fridge is a good idea, right? I’m sure this is the first place you’ll go to after waking up._

 

Kyungsoo breaks into a wide grin, snatching his phone on the marble top. He pulls up Jongin’s contact and dials for a video call. It has barely connected when Jongin answers with a soft smile on his face and an even softer gaze. 

 

“You’re so silly,” Kyungsoo says in lieu of a greeting. Jongin’s eyes disappeared with the length of his smile. He adds, “And I don’t need your car.”

 

The older knows that the moment Jongin opens his mouth it’s to a load of explanation—how he’s not in South Korea and the car would just go to waste, prompting Kyungsoo to nag about smart financial decisions, and how his Gangnam property can use a little life with the color of Kyungsoo’s lips and the brightness he brings wherever he goes. 

 

Kyungsoo calls bullshit but he does sink down on the floor—too lazy to sit on a chair, too weak on the knees because of a man 20, 000 feet up in the air. 

 

The carton of milk stays forgotten.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo returns to Jongin’s apartment later that day carrying a bunch of roses. The florist has eyed the way he has the hood of his jacket up over Jongin’s Mercedes cap and the medical mask covering half of his face. She has not said anything after Kyungsoo has purchased three dozens of flowers.

 

He shakes his head in resignation when he finds that Jongin only has one vase. Three dozens won’t be able to fit on the container’s mouth. Kyungsoo takes out the drinking glasses inside Jongin’s cupboard, trimming most of the stem from each of the flowers. He puts a little water on each glass and adds three or four of the pink roses, scattering them throughout the apartment. It looks straight out of Pinterest. That, or a college dorm room.

 

The soft petals are a beautiful contrast to the hard edges and the overall sleek characteristic of masculine ostentatiousness. Kyungsoo likes the pink with the white and gray, stark like the gold of Jongin’s skin against the boring furniture. He sends a video to Jongin alongside a _you should consider color around your apartment._

 

And, just because he can, he plucks one rose from one of the drinking glasses, tucking it neatly on his ear. He sends a quick selca to Jongin, smiling a bit, and he has to admit the photo comes out good when the sunlight filters and hits the skin of his face and collarbones.

 

Jongin ends up video calling him two hours later, breathing out, “How can I say no to you when you send me a picture like that? I’ll throw paint on everything in my apartment if it will make you happy.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo makes sure colors bloom inside Jongin’s apartment—blues, yellows, reds, violets. He thinks Jongin may have been lonely in his suite in Kuala Lumpur for the Malaysian Grand Prix so he has someone arrange dozens of pink roses for the younger man— _since you miss it_ , he writes on the card.

 

Jongin replies with a selca, one flower placed on his ear with a _we match_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Hi,” Kyungsoo says when the video connects. Jongin replies with a casual _hey_ back and then an _I miss you so much._ Kyungsoo laughs at that, telling the younger man to be patient, the season’s almost over. Jongin pouts but nods anyway. Kyungsoo smiles and says, _I miss you too, so much._

 

Jongin’s shirtless and lounging inside his hotel room. From behind him, Kyungsoo can make out the slight blur of Dyolamb. It’s cute—how Jongin insists on bringing the doll on his races as a placeholder for Kyungsoo.

 

“I have another surprise,” Jongin blurts out in the middle of Kyungsoo talking about the recipe he has recently learned. “In Japan.”

 

“Why do you like giving surprises so much?” Kyungsoo asks.

 

“It’s—well,” Jongin rubs his hand on the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. His voice is soft and fond. “I like how your eyes would widen and then you’ll wring your hands together. Like you don’t know what to do with them. Then you’d kiss me. Or I’d kiss you. And you’d smile after. All big and happy. And—you’re so bright, Kyungsoo.”

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t even know he wrings his hands. Jongin pronounces, _and you’d smile after all big and happy and you’re so bright kyungsoo,_ weird accent and all, like it’s enough of a reason to fly half-way across the world, jet lag worth it.

 

“I really want to be where you are right now,” Kyungsoo admits, mind blank and not thinking. “So I can kiss you—hold you.”

 

Jongin reduces him to this. Jongin is something unbelievable.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Later, Jongin sends him a photo of Dyolamb on the driver’s seat of the W07. Kyungsoo loses it when he spots the doll wearing a replica of Jongin’s racing suit—complete with the sponsors’ logos. Clutching his stomach and cursing Jongin, his eyes tear up even more when the younger man adds, _Need to watch out for new competition; heard he’s good!_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There’s a certain mundane quality to their everyday. It’s a routine to talk, about important things, about petty things, about nothing at all. Sometimes, they will call each other and listen to their breathing—distorted by static and time and miles of separation.

 

He sees the slight worry in the crease of Junmyeon’s eyebrows and he’s been repeatedly asked how he’s able to maintain a long distance relationship, something, whatever. Kyungsoo smiles like he has a secret.

 

It’s not hard.

 

It’s easy. It’s so very easy.

 

Jongin’s smile makes it all feel effortless, weightless, light.

 

There’s a certain magic to the reality of their relationship—Jongin transforms the ordinary into something worth keeping. Kyungsoo hoards notes with Jongin’s ugly handwriting on torn scraps of paper like they’re treasures.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

EXO lands in Hokkaido just before midnight. The airport in Chitose is still awake with the yawns of passengers trying to make it somewhere, sometime. Their fansites have their cameras poised to take photographs, like paparazzi-vultures. 

 

Kyungsoo tries to keep himself from looking too sleepy. Droopy eyes and eye bags don’t make much for quality pictures. Maybe the fans will use photoshop—blur and airbrush his face so he doesn’t look the same. Kyungsoo is used to this part of being a celebrity. Of not really being himself.

 

“You okay?” Baekhyun creeps beside him once they are out of arrivals.

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo answers curtly, taking his phone out. Jongin’s messages from after the Grand Prix in Suzuka have been vague. He lost the race to an upstart with an arrogant smirk and Kyungsoo’s expecting a tirade for at least three more days interspersed with selcas from parts of the world. Instead, Jongin’s been asking him questions about Japan. “Jongin’s being weird.”

 

“Oh?” The inflection coloring Baekhyun’s one-syllable reply speaks louder than a longer statement can ever do. 

 

“Do you know something?” Kyungsoo asks suspiciously. He knows that his members have been sending candids to Jongin almost everyday and he wonders, a little in annoyance, if they have sent something they shouldn’t. It will not be the first time, nor will it be the last, considering they have sent Jongin pictures of Kyungsoo wearing a blonde wig from their failed production way back in 2014, for The Lost Planet, just two days ago. 

 

Jongin has laughed himself silly, responding with a series of photos from one of his escapades in Las Vegas. Kyungsoo assures that Jongin has rocked the hot pink feather boa despite being topless and wearing leather pants.

 

The smirk on Baekhyun’s face is impish and Kyungsoo’s hackles rose in instinct and alarm—survival of the fittest and all that.

 

“Maybe,” Baekhyun giggles, tugging Kyungsoo for a side hug out of nowhere. Lips near the younger’s ear, he whispers, “Lover boy’s got a surprise.”

 

And Baekhyun’s right. Jongin has a surprise. One of their managers ushers him not inside the usual sedan but towards a black Toyota coupe. Kyungsoo is about to ask some questions when the window on the passenger side rolls down.

 

“Hi, gorgeous,” Jongin grins. “How about a date?”

 

Kyungsoo involuntarily smiles and his cheeks are flushed red from the compliment. He’s wearing a pair of loose pants cuffed high to show his cream-colored socks and leather shoes. The chill in Hokkaido is warded off by his sweater and thick jacket. The medical mask is pulled low on his chin. He’s far from gorgeous but Jongin’s smile is so bright, so beautiful, and Kyungsoo believes him just a little. How can he not—when the taller man looks at him like Kyungsoo’s something incredible in his comfortable clothes and bare face.

 

Kyungsoo falls in love, just like that, just like before, just like always. Jongin makes it so easy.

 

“Get inside, silly.” Jongin honest-to-god giggles and he crooks his fingers in a playful _come hither_ gesture. The older feels possessed, like he’s in a dream, and he plops on the leather seat, closing the car door fast. 

 

Jongin clicks something and the opened window rolls closed. A pleasant silence envelops the small car. Kyungsoo shifts in his seat, turning towards the younger man and leaning in. The kiss is short and sweet, chaste. It tastes like friendship and trust with the longing of a starved man.

 

“Hey, Jongin,” Kyungsoo greets warmly. Sapporo is cold this time of the year.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jongin brings Kyungsoo to McDonald’s.

 

“Wow,” Kyungsoo teases. “You’re not trying to impress me?”

 

“I thought I didn’t need to impress you,” Jongin smirks back. The corner of his lips are pulled to show his teeth; it’s unsettlingly predatory. He slips his hand on Kyungsoo’s and the older feels himself stiffen. Jongin presses himself closer and the heat of the man comforts Kyungsoo from the anxiety of prying eyes.

 

Escapism is close to impossible when everyone owns a camera phone.

 

McDonald’s is close to dead some minutes past midnight. Jongin leads him way at the back, the taller man pulling his mask secured high on his face. It’s not a novelty in Japan—no one looks twice at the person covering most of his face and looking ready to rob a fast food chain. 

 

Anyone has something to hide nowadays. People like Kyungsoo and Jongin just have a lot more to keep, to lose.

 

“So,” Jongin drawls. The twinkle in his eyes taunts Kyungsoo. The man is probably smirking. “What do you want, boyfriend? My treat, of course.”

 

Kyungsoo laughs, raising a single eyebrow, he asks in a faux cold tone, “Boyfriend?”

 

He sees Jongin visibly faltering. Broad shoulders droop down a bit and Kyungsoo can imagine the normally confident man fiddling with his fingers under the table. 

 

“I mean,” the racer whispers. “Aren’t you?”

 

Kyungsoo watches him and notices the raw vulnerability associated with hope. He can break this strong man with a simple no, he thinks. A simple no and someone like Jongin—who has all the trophies and the praises and the news articles and the Instagram followers and the money—will crumble right in front of his eyes. 

 

But Kyungsoo doesn’t want that. Kyungsoo wants Jongin. Kyungsoo wants— _needs._

 

“You’re so stupid,” he answers fondly. He bumps his knee on the other man’s and Jongin’s eyes widen a bit. “I want a Happy Meal, boyfriend.”

 

Jongin’s wide eyes crinkle and disappear. Kyungsoo looks around and, seeing no one around them, he leans closer across the plastic table. He presses their cloth-covered mouth together in a short, artificial kiss. There’s a smile playing on both their lips.

 

Kyungsoo’s cheeks are warm when he settles back on his seat. He shoos Jongin away with his hand, grumbling, “Go get me my food and toy, please.”

 

Jongin’s body is not tense anymore. There’s an easy manner to the way he stands up. He spreads his arm in a mock conceited gesture. 

 

“I’ll go buy all the toys for you, boyfriend.” 

 

Kyungsoo can hear the snicker on Jongin’s words. He laughs behind his hand when he sees the six-foot tall man skip to the counter.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jongin saunters back carrying a tray full of food. This time, he sits beside Kyungsoo.

 

“That’s too much,” Kyungsoo admonishes, eyeing the food and the mountain of toys.

 

“They have the complete toy set so,” Jongin shrugs.

 

“So you end up buying seven meals for the two of us?”

 

“Yeah!”

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh. Jongin is serious when he has said he’s going to buy all the toys. 

 

“You can’t even eat too much. You’re in the middle of the season,” he reminds. Kyungsoo lifts both his legs, placing them on Jongin’s lap. The man pulls Kyungsoo and his seat closer, arranging the limbs on top of his thighs. Kyungsoo grins and he pulls his mask down, Jongin following suit.

 

He grabs a fry and stuffs it inside his mouth. He bites off the crispy part and stuffs the soggy end inside Jongin’s mouth. 

 

“I thought I shouldn’t eat since I’m on a diet.” Jongin’s hand is running up and down Kyungsoo’s legs. It’s nothing sensual or sexual, just something familiar but intimate. Occasionally, the athlete will pat Kyungsoo’s knee.

 

“I said you shouldn’t eat _much,_ ” he emphasizes. “And I hate soggy fries.”

 

“But I _hate_ soggy fries!”

 

“Too bad,” Kyungsoo retorts playfully. “I get the last say since I’m older.” 

 

Jongin’s laughter vibrates against Kyungsoo. His chest tightens with something, _everything._ Kyungsoo contents himself with lacing his other hand on Jongin’s. They can both eat with just one free. Kyungsoo dangles a fry in front of Jongin’s mouth and the younger obediently eats the piece.

 

Kyungsoo ends up giving the crispy ones to Jongin, having all the soggy ones to himself. He doesn’t mind—the younger gives him a kiss every time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The stage looms in a trap of false illusion. Lights flare out like a hazard and the noise is deafening. The in-ears do not filter the screams of delight and amazement. Breathing is only second to performing and entertaining, Kyungsoo thinks.

 

He stands in front of almost ten thousand people with the same trepidation that, he thinks, will never go away. The stage is not a home as it is a house where Kyungsoo is not himself but EXO’s D.O. Inside Makomanai Ice Arena, in Hokkaido, in front of fans, none of them are who they really are. Bits and pieces of backstage identity watered down by lectures and training will sometimes slip past but here, as EXO, they do not really own themselves. There’s an alienation associated to being an idol. Kyungsoo is not D.O but, at the same time, stage names blur the divide between reality and the fake glamor of celebrity life. Kyungsoo is D.O but he is not, not really, not that much, not anymore.

 

He’s going around the stage on the opposite side of where he’s assigned to mostly be. The fans wave their banners and their _uchiwa._ The are glitter and glamor concealing bruises on gaunt skin and vomit stains on clear tiles. Kyungsoo smiles and sways to beat thumping on his veins. The thuds are no more than a routine.

 

Kyungsoo’s about to turn when he spots something—or rather, someone. He freezes in to place for at most two seconds before years of being a trainee kicks in. He plasters a fake, standard smile but his eyes try to zero in on the man brandishing an official EXO lightstick. On his other hand, he’s clutching his Dyolamb. They’re wearing matching concert baseball jerseys.

 

Jongin is ridiculous. This is the man whom Kyungsoo loves.

 

The younger has a bright smile and his mouth moves in time with the fan chants. The last note trills out of Jongdae’s mouth and Kyungsoo makes eye contact to the only person watching in the entire arena who matters. He keeps his gaze steady as the lyrics smoothly flow from deep into his throat to his lips. He hits the note flawlessly and he closes his eyes, turning his head a little to the side as he drags the last syllable a little bit before letting go.

 

Opening his eyes, he finds Jongin staring at him intently. There’s an unknown expression on the other man’s face and Kyungsoo wants—needs—to cross the boundary of the performer and the audience to kiss that man silly because that. That’s the man whom Kyungsoo loves. 

 

The thrumming in Kyungsoo’s veins change in tempo and beat. It’s foreign but, at the same time, not. His heart skips and threatens to explode out of his chest like its ten sizes too big for his frame. Kyungsoo is D.O but he’s also Kyungsoo again. The smile on his face feels like sunlight on his skin. The lights do not hurt his head anymore and the glitter and glamor is a tad more genuine this time from the sparkle on Jongin’s eyes and the the beam on his face. 

 

And all because of one man in the audience who looks at him _that._

 

Kyungsoo returns it with the same look—hopefully, Jongin knows he’s the reason why Kyungsoo keeps coming back on the section not assigned to him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo browses through his camera roll, looking at pictures from their short time in Sapporo. The night has made them seem like they’re taken with an old Nokia from 2009. There are photos of a tanned hand intertwined with a paler one, of Jongin making faces in front of a statue, of tangled feet, of plastic cups on the holder of the rented Toyota—over two hundred of them playing tourists at one in the morning.

 

Jongin has complained about the photo quality being ugly, whining about the lack of tourist attractions opened at an inglorious hour. He remembers the other apologizing for not thinking their impromptu date through. Kyungsoo has patted his boyfriend’s back with a smile then, and a _They’re all worth more than tourist attractions since I’m with you._ The younger has gaped at that and Kyungsoo has kissed the expression off of Jongin’s face. 

 

Smiling at the memory, he swipes some more through the captured moments and Kyungsoo realizes that he’s smiling at Jongin in almost all of them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The last four races of the season will be hot. Jongin thinks, _literally,_ looking at Texas and Mexico City and São Paulo and Abu Dhabi. Jongin can win the race in 19 if he sweeps United States and Mexico and the #2 drops out of the podium.

 

It’s a little wishful for him to hope. He loses Texas and Mexico City magnificently. All publicity is good publicity—including Jongin’s near collision with a driver from Ferrari that has him seeing stars under the brightness of the warm Mexico sun.

 

Kyungsoo has left him numerous voice mails, text messages, and missed calls. Jongin feels bad for making the other worry but the medical team has him ushered in for a thorough check-up before he can even have the time to think. Jongin’s always moving at a fast speed, in and out of the race tracks.

 

Once everything is said and done, he welcomes the fabricated privacy of a chartered plane paid with a long string of zeroes on a mint check. Solitude is expensive in the days of social media and everyday-paparazzi. Jongin leans back comfortably on the chair, drinking his tea as he waits for the call to connect. The plane’s up in the air and Jongin almost always loses time despite being in various time zones every two weeks.

 

Thankfully, Kyungsoo’s face appears on his screen—there’s a smudge of make-up on his lids and his cheeks are dusted with something peach. Jongin has known a lot about make-up after Kyungsoo. The most important is that his boyfriend looks ravishing post-orgasm when the colors have slightly run on his sated face after multiple rounds.

 

“Hi, boyfriend,” he purrs. Kyungsoo’s thick eyebrows furrow and Jongin watches the older man’s expression go from happy to confused to mad to irritated to, unusually enough, admonishing. Kyungsoo is always a joy to watch—he wears his feelings like a favorite jacket.

 

“Don’t boyfriend me,” the man grunts. His voice is deep and a little scratchy.

 

“Please don’t cry,” Jongin half-begs. “I don’t like it when you cry and I’m not there.” His right hand meets the impersonal surface of his phone screen. The tip of his index finger gently caresses Kyungsoo’s close-up. Jongin wants to comfort the singer so bad, he knows what this is about. 

 

“You almost crashed,” Kyungsoo accuses. “You almost crashed in Mexico on your second lap, Jongin.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jongin says. He doesn’t know what to say. He thinks he should. Maybe. 

 

There is no manual for something like this. It’s a first time for him—to receive a worried call from someone other than his family and dearest friends. It’s strange and new. He likes it, likes everything Kyungsoo.

 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, sighing. “It’s part of the game. Formula One is not the safest sport, isn’t it?”

 

“No shit,” Kyungsoo sniffles before he, too, sighs. His shoulders drop in minute defeat. Jongin supposes Kyungsoo understands. It’s the hazard of his profession, same way as a celebrity is always going to be scrutinized, as an idol is going to barely sleep and rest. There’s nothing they can do about it. They live individual lives outside of each other, tangled messes of inhumane schedule and screeching tires over the bass of dance music and photoshoots.

 

“It’s—” Jongin pauses, trying to search for the proper word. It’s not _okay._ “—it’s as usual.”

 

That’s not the most reassuring thing to say and Kyungsoo’s glare is visible despite the distortions of the wifi connection.

 

“I mean, it’s whatever, you know?”

 

“It’s not _whatever_ , Jongin,” Kyungsoo scolds. The furrow in his brow is still there. From somewhere behind him, Jongin can hear hooting sounds and loud laughter.

 

“I know, it’s just,” Jongin stops again, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been doing this my whole life and it really is part of the race. The danger. It’s part of what makes it so amazing. It’s, like, you’re constantly in an adrenaline high.”

 

There’s a weighted silence. On Kyungsoo’s end, there’s a crash and someone, who sounds suspiciously like Baekhyun, titters in response. The plane remains quiet with the white noise of Jongin’s companions.

 

“Okay,” Kyungsoo says. He seems to be saying it more to himself than to the athlete. A pale hand goes up and stubby fingers comb through ink strands. The action momentarily distracts Jongin. “It’s not my place to be like this, right? And I’m sorry for blowing up your phone with messages and—”

 

“No!” Jongin is quick to interrupt. Kyunsoo cannot think like _that._ “I like your messages. I like that you’re worried—even if it seems bad on my part. And, Kyungsoo, I don’t know what you’re thinking but it’s definitely your place to be worried.”

 

“Of course,” Kyungsoo mock scoffs. And then his face turns serious. “I know it’s my place to be worried. I’m your boyfriend. I meant about your job. It’s not my place to butt into your job demanding you do this and that.”

 

Jongin beams at Kyungsoo’s words, agreeing with what he has said. At this point, Jongin feels the same way. He doesn’t feel comfortable telling Kyungsoo to stop being an idol, or to come out so they can date comfortably. There’s nothing more infuriating than someone policing your actions and Jongin and Kyungsoo have both lived under rigid sets of rules to have come where they are. They don’t need more from each other. 

 

But the worry and the nagging, Jongin will take that wholeheartedly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There are things a professional athlete cannot keep, someone has told Jongin once. Secrets are currency in gossip rags and contract renewals. 

 

He is not blind to performance-enhancing drugs, not deaf to the talks of the commission and the management about fixed games. Money changes hands and, in the end, the sport is still a business for men in power. He’s the actor on stage trying to beat the flag but no race is ever completely clean anyway.

 

He knows there’s a distinct difference between athletes based in North America and those in Europe. For one, America has always been concerned with capping salaries on teams and players. Europe is the embodiment of luxury, depravity always half its doors. Jongin has the European pro-athlete lifestyle down to a perfect T.

 

He has seen his fair share of women and men come in go—sometimes at the same time, sometimes in multiples. At nineteen, on a party in some penthouse maybe in France or Italy, he has been in between a Victoria’s Secret model’s thighs, trying to snort the trail of coke on her bronze skin.

 

When Jongin has won his first Drivers’ Championship before most people have their college diploma, Mercedes slips him a check upon the news of Ferrari sniffing around his contract. The amount is still sitting in one of Jongin’s bank account, the one that’s undocumented, the one in Switzerland—a chain of numbers in lieu of an identity to keep the bribe disguised as a bonus in a hush-hush. 

 

The trophy adds to his reputation and Jongin has flown to Spain to share a bed with a football star from a top-tier team. A week later, he has gone on a bender with an American model, a Greek socialite, and an heir with a fat trust fund. They have been caught driving 60 miles per hour over the speed limit. The paparazzi have immortalized the misdemeanor on the internet. Mercedes has called him in a closed-door meeting.

 

Barely a month after, Jongin gets someone to renovate an expensive flat in Monaco, getting criticisms over escaping the high income tax in England. Jongin is advised by his financial manager, handing him a list of locations to choose from. He has always liked the beach so he fills Louis Vuitton suitcases and moves 50 kilograms of his life to the French Riviera. The DJs play shitty electronic music that grates on his nerves but the bartenders know how to make a mean drink. 

 

Jongin is no saint.

 

But here, in a hotel room no different from the one in Milan or Seoul, Jongin forgets the alcohol and the sex on his resume when Kyungsoo kisses him fast and hard like he’s desperate to break Jongin to pieces.

 

“We don’t have much time,” Kyungsoo whispers harshly on Jongin’s plush lips. The older man pulls away and directs his kisses and nips from below Jongin’s ear down to the line of his strong jaw. Jongin helplessly cups Kyungsoo’s plump ass, squeezing and trying to gain purchase.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swears. English spills like second nature from his mouth, running out of control. “ _Fuck, Kyungsoo. You’re so hot._ ”

 

“Thanks,” Kyungsoo teases. He sucks hard on a particular patch of skin, right on Jongin’s jugular. He palms the growing hardness inside younger’s Calvins and he can feel thick lips quirking up in a smirk before Kyungsoo pulls away.

 

Jongin groans, “Don’t tease. You said it—not much time.”

 

Kyungsoo grabs Jongin’s hands, eyes alight with impish malice. He drags the taller man near the bed before Jongin feels something bony poking the back of his knee. Weak, he collapses right on the mattress. Turning around so he’s on his back, he sees Kyungsoo crawling up to him like a predator.

 

“Right where I want you.” There’s a growl on the lilt of the last syllable. Jongin’s pants tighten but he feels laughter bubbling up in his throat before bursting loud. Kyungsoo bounces with the movements of his chuckles from where he’s straddling Jongin easily.

 

He tries to curb his laughter. Kyungsoo’s smirk has already morphed into a more genuine smile, happiness radiating from the brightness of his face, small giggles coming out of his lips. Jongin places his hands on Kyungsoo’s soft hips, slipping under the material of his tee. His boxer briefs are black and his thighs look even more appealing in them.

 

“What a view,” Jongin whistles. He jostles Kyungsoo a bit, reaching for the man’s ankles and pulling. The older rests squarely on his pelvis, legs stretched out. Jongin clenches his abs, wiggling and testing the give of the bed, before sitting up suddenly.

 

Kyungsoo yelps but Jongin quickly holds the shorter male so he won’t fall from where he’s perched on Jongin’s half-hard cock. He kisses any protest and question away. His hands go from Kyungsoo’s hips to the thighs on the sides of Jongin, gripping the flesh and digging his fingernails. Kyungsoo doesn’t like him leaving marks but the smaller man has given him a free pass after sending a provocative picture with a _mark me so I don’t forget what you’ve done._

 

Jongin asks to meet somewhere in the world, mid-way the both of them, even for a few hours. It’s impulsive and stupid, hopping on a plane in a random airport code and booking a room in the nearest hotel.

 

Kyungsoo grinds his hips agonizingly slow. Designer underwear feels good when they rub on both their arousals. Blunt fingernails leave crescents on the gold of Jongin’s skin like a brand. Kyungsoo breaks the kiss but he brings their lips together just as fast. His tongue licks Jongin’s bottom lip and the younger obediently opens his mouth, hands now slipping beneath the band of Kyungsoo’s boxer-briefs. Skin-to-skin contact sends tingling down Jongin’s spine. 

 

The singer’s hands find their way on the wide expanse of Jongin’s toned back. He presses his weight on Jongin’s and the athlete gets the idea, removing his wandering hands from Kyungsoo’s ass and falling down on the bed when Kyungsoo has removed his hands on his back. Kyungsoo fixes his position so he’s straddling Jongin again. This time, his back is arched and his ass is up on the air like an invitation.

 

The kiss progresses into something more open-mouthed, from lips to the skin on Jongin’s neck to his chest. Jongin moans when Kyungsoo’s fingers pinch one of his nipples just as the man sucks near his collarbones. He bucks his hips off of the bed, hoping to gain more friction on his hard member.

 

Kyungsoo stops, looking at Jongin warningly, “Patience.”

 

“We both have to be in the airport in two and a half hours.”

 

The singer smirks, bending down to bite Jongin’s earlobe playfully. “That’s plenty enough time to make you come.”

 

Kyungsoo makes do with his promise. Jongin is no saint but his hands and his mouth and his words are the prayers sent to Jongin’s ways. His palms press on skin in worship and Jongin forgets the past and the present and the future when Kyungsoo chants his name.

 

_Jongin—God. Faster. Harder. Jongin. God._

 

They both come delirious. Their faces are flushed red in adrenaline. Jongin feels like he’s in the circuits of Baku or Monte Carlo from the exhaustion and scrutiny. 

 

Kyungsoo slinks upwards and Jongin thinks the other man is going to do something. Instead, he cuddles Jongin, whispering, “Give me some more time.”

 

He gives all the time to Kyungsoo. Short fingers play with his brown hair in rhythm. Kyungsoo’s humming a melody that Jongin is unfamiliar with. It’s soothing and loving, like a lullaby, but with the sensuality of old jazz and modern RnB.

 

Jongin feels disgusting when the remnants of come they have missed when haphazardly wiping starts to dry. He shifts Kyungsoo from his hold but the man whines and clings to him harder. Jongin feels soft hands moving on the ridges of his abs and tracing the defined V of his hips. He moans.

 

He turns Kyungsoo to his side, spooning to shorter male. Jongin turns Kyungsoo’s head so he’s kissing him while slowly fucking into the tight heat. He fucks Kyungsoo like a thorough lover and he drops a soft kiss on the bump of the older man’s spine. He showers the slight knobs protruding on the arc of Kyungsoo’s back with reverence.

 

This time, it is he who does the worshipping.

 

He has been told before that there are certain things professional athletes cannot keep. This—a hotel room somewhere, sometime, and his lips mouthing an _I love you_ on the warm skin of Kyungsoo’s neck as they orgasm—

 

Jongin will take to his grave.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Abu Dhabi crackles with the fire of competition. Jongin has gotten texts from Kyungsoo and four selfies. He needs a first here to win the championship. If he drops to second, the older driver from Red Bull gets to win and retire with bang.

 

Fifty-five laps around the circuit in death-inviting speed and there’s going to be another trophy inside his cabinet. He kisses the photo of Kyungsoo like a good luck charm and he gets pole position from coming first during the qualifying rounds.

 

Jongin’s hands are steady and his eyes are focused towards the end. The thing about moving so fast is that one tends to leave behind all thoughts to the wind. His head is red-hot static and strategical computations. There’s more to Formula One racing that egos speeding down circuits all over the world.

 

The young upstart from Ferrari almost crashes into him on the fifty-fourth lap. On the fifty-fifth, Jongin is neck-to-neck with one of the drivers he has looked up to in his career. At that moment, he’s nothing more but a pesky rival. Jongin grits his teeth, steady, steady, steady, in climbing up and accelerating. He’s almost to the last turn, a sharp edge for a curve that has him holding his breath inside his helmet and—

 

There.

 

1:38:04 something.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Fuck, yes! Jongin!” One of his mechanics screams.

 

There are congratulatory “Attaboy!” from the rest of the team. The media has gone wild with their cameras and all the jumping around. Jongin finishes first on top of the podium.

 

He wins the Word Drivers’ first for the second time. His teammate says it’s because he’s “inspired”.

 

Jongin feels his ears ring and his back ache from the hard slaps from almost everyone. He gives out an exuberant yell.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Congratulations!” Kyungsoo shouts instead of a greeting. “You did it! Your second championship, Jongin!”

 

“I know,” Jongin breathes out, disbelieving after the high of the win. “Kyungsoo, I won.”

 

The older man sags on the couch he’s sitting at, boneless. There’s a smile playing on his lips and Jongin can recognize the pride in Kyungsoo’s eyes.

 

“You’re so amazing,” Kyungsoo whispers.

 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Jongin puts the phone near his face and he stares at Kyungsoo’s soft expression. He can see the mole on the man’s top lip. He wants to kiss him so bad.

 

“I want to kiss you so bad,” Kyungsoo says. Jongin startles before grinning wide. He loves this man so, so much. 

 

“Then meet me,” Jongin retorts. “I have nothing to do this off-season.”

 

Kyungsoo sighs, dejected, “I have.”

 

Jongin frowns at that. Kyungsoo has warned him over his schedule getting busier towards the end of the year with concerts and awards shows. He thinks Kyungsoo works too hard, sometimes, but he knows this is Kyungsoo’s passion. This is Kyungsoo’s dream and he respects and admires that. 

 

“Don’t frown,” Kyungsoo scolds, gesturing to Jongin’s lips and then his furrowed brows. “You’re the winner, right? The best in the world.”

 

Jongin laughs at that, “Only this season.”

 

“That’s good enough for me,” Kyungsoo replies. “You’ll always be good enough for me, Jongin.”

 

He stops at that. His heart skips a beat or two. _You’ll always be good enough for me._ Jongin has spent most of his life trying to be enough, chasing after smoke and dust and breaking records. In his sport, nothing will ever suffice. But here is Kyungsoo, beautiful Do Kyungsoo, telling him he’s enough. He’s okay. He’s enough. His chest feels tight and his eyes heat up and water.

 

“Don’t cry,” Kyungsoo coos. One of his hands seem to caress his phone screen, as if wiping away the wetness on Jongin’s eyes tenderly. Jongin rubs it himself, giving a gummy smile. Kyungsoo beams at him like he’s the sun and he looks like all of Jongin’s dreams and hopes coming true at once.

 

He will never tell anyone this—not even Kyungsoo—but this moment. This moment is better than the championship by an infinity and then some.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jongin is roped by an English midfielder he’s been friends with in his schoolboy days in a party somewhere warm. There are few destinations to choose from and Jongin refuses to spend it in the French Riviera. It’s not a vacation if he’s still near home, he reasons.

 

He wants to stay in Europe for a bit until Kyungsoo has freer schedules. He has tickets in various concert tours he’s planning on attending. His friend has insisted on a congratulatory party over his recent championship. The football star is on reserve after sustaining an injury. It’s also a pity party, Jongin thinks.

 

They fly private with a large entourage to Ibiza for a short holiday. Jongin packs light with barely anything on his luggage. It’s not like he’s picking up anyone. The only person he wants to impress is busy in South Korea and Japan and China.

 

Ibiza is cold and damp in December but barely anyone sticks to the island this time of the year for the beaches. The temptation of a party or twelve has them in Playa d’en Bossa. It’s all pulsating lights and trash music from famous DJs who pop pills while mixing beats. Jongin’s been here many times, with various people and various companies. His bed inside an expensive suite in one of the many hotels has been a witness to what athletic stamina and vodka shots can do to a person.

 

The night is young and the open-air venue of Ushuaïa has Jongin feeling mildly claustrophobic despite being in the VIP area. He shoots back a shot of his favorite poison, quickly followed by one more, before two girls in skimpy outfits start running their hands on his biceps.

 

Goosebumps rise on his skin and both girls drag him to the dance floor. Jongin feels a little delirious.

 

“Congratulations on winning, Kai,” the blonde one pressed in front of her purrs. Her bleached hair smells of salt and something floral. Jongin can taste the smoke on her tanned skin despite the distance between them.

 

“Thanks,” he says gruffly. The other girl behind him has one of her hands trying to slip inside his shirt. She’s whispering something in French that Jongin is too drunk to comprehend. He pulls her hand away before contact and she gets the hint. The other girl must have noticed his disinterest too, giving him space. They do not seem to have an intention to sleep with him. It’s all good fun and Jongin dances for a few minutes before leaving.

 

Jongin hits the bar and asks for something bright and fruity. The slant on the bartender’s eyebrows is a mixture of curiosity and sexist insult. Jongin shrugs; no one will dare anyway. Kai Kim is a European figure of success and excess. Someone offers him a line to snort off of toned abs but he declines.

 

Jongin goes through the motion of the Ibiza nightlife. He misses Kyungsoo.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s not Ibiza unless the celebration extends to the sea. People in barely there clothes are aboard large yachts with flashing lights and free flowing alcohol. Jongin’s sitting down on the place of honor. Parties are all politics and popularity—it’s a little like high school and the government except everyone’s dressed inappropriately and bottles are popped in exuberance.

 

The music is not annoying this time. The darkness is too raw for anything pop and electronic. It’s slow and intimate, a mix of heavy bass like thumping heartbeats. It’s good music to grind and moan to. The calmness of the sea is a juxtaposition to the swaying bodies. The yacht is a detached dream floating in the waters of Ibiza and Jongin is used to the coldness of December when his insides are warm with vodka and gin and vermouth and fruit juice.

 

A man in black board shorts and white tank top saunters up to him, sitting down beside him and leaning on on the side where Jongin has his arm extended on the top of the seat. There’s a smirk playing on the man’s lips and his hands drag slowly to where the shirt clings on Abercrombie abs. Jongin gives a polite smile. There’s arrogance in the way the man carries himself, in the way he suddenly occupies the place beside Jongin.

 

Jongin has never seen the man before but he appreciates the other person’s generally appealing facial structure. Jongin wonders if he’s Spanish—a tanned brunet with blue eyes and a sharp jawline. His English is perfect without any trace of an accent. 

 

He guesses the other man is some heir of something—conceited only because that’s the only thing he has known how to be his entire life. He plasters on a smirk and the man takes it as an invitation to push himself closer. Jongin backs away.

 

“Winners get to party hard.” The man lazily rolls the word _hard_ on his tongue and Jongin notices the silver glint of a stud near the tip. “You don’t have to be lonely tonight.”

 

The implication is not lost on Jongin. He’s been in too many clubs and has seen and done his fair share of one night stands in dark hotel rooms with no words exchanged to pretend to be ignorant. If this is the old Kai Kim, he’ll sneer and take the offer. He would have pulled the man with a single touch, luring him inside the tight space of yacht bathrooms. Maybe he’ll get a blowjob out of it and heavy skin on skin. If he likes it enough, he would bring the man to where he’s staying, fucking lazily under the influence of alcohol and maybe something more.

 

But Jongin has someone waiting for him somewhere. Pink lips and chubby cheeks and wide eyes and small stature and Jongin wants it to last. Jongin doesn’t want to fuck up one of the good things in his life. 

 

There’s no heat pooling low in his belly, no tinge of arousal, nothing. The other man’s smirk falters on his face and Jongin shakes his head apologetically.

 

“I have a special someone,” he admits. He takes a sip of his cocktail, savoring the sweetness and the bitter aftertaste. It tastes like all the calories he’s not allowed to have during the season. 

 

The man’s posture straightens up, placing a distance between them. The smirk turns into a curious smile.

 

“Really? How long?”

 

“Not that long,” Jongin replies. He crosses his legs together, turning towards the man. “We met last February.”

 

“You sound so smitten,” the other man comments. Jongin should really ask for his name but identities are useless when they’re not going to fuck each other. Red light throws a glint on the man’s eyes, it’s playful and open, interested not on Jongin but what he’s going to share. It’s a good change of pace. “Your person must be very special. _Perfecto._ ”

 

“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “He’s perfect.” He leaves it at that—a half-lie and a half-truth. Kyungsoo is not perfect but, at the same time, he is. It’s something he cannot explain. Do Kyungsoo is a face he cannot comprehend.

 

“All the more reason to have fun, _sí_?” The man enthusiastically claps his hand. “Love is always worth celebrating.”

 

Jongin agrees and he lets the man grab one of his wrists, pulling him to the bar. Jongin throws his head back in loud laughter at the amusement of the scenario. The man turns to him with a wink, ordering a full bottle of vintage magnum.

 

He hands the heavy Dom Pérignon towards Jongin, urging him to pop it open. “For your love! Your special person! And the Drivers’ Championship, of course!”

 

Jongin grins wildly. For Kyungsoo. For the trophy. He likes the ring of that. He subconsciously shakes the large bottle, years of exploding the golden liquid over grinding bodies. 

 

He pulls himself to stand on top of the counter and everyone hoots when he raises the champagne overheard. The man he’s met screams some more about _Kai’s_ _cariño_ and Jongin shoots the other a smile in agreement before popping the big bottle open.

 

Champagne showers on sweaty bodies and most people have their mouths open, tongues trying to chase the droplets of expensive liquid. Jongin laughs louder, shaking and waving the opened bottle like a maniac. Once it dies down, he takes a swig straight from the bottle amidst loud cheering.

 

“All drinks on me!” He announces, screaming loud over the trippy music and the psychedelic lights. “Love is always worth celebrating!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jongin wakes up with a hangover. The pounding in his head is increasingly unpleasant. His phone displays too many missed calls from his agent. He has barely straightened up when it rings again. He groans at the high-pitched trills and he considers throwing his phone on the wall. But Jongin knows his agent will skin him alive if he ignores his 34th phone call.

 

“Yeah?” He groans. “What’s wrong?”

 

Jongin’s eyes are still bleary and his limbs feel boneless as he listens to the man on the other line rant. His eyes widen considerably when the heated tirade is done.

 

“Fuck,” Jongin whispers. “What the fuck.”

 

He’s not that articulate in the mornings after drinking. His agent echoes his sentiment before he gives grim instructions—stay put, stay quiet, stay away from social media—before hanging up.

 

Jongin wants to punch something.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t reply to any of his messages. His phone is dead and neither of his members are talking to him. He wants to explain himself, to apologize, maybe go on his knees and grovel. Whatever it takes, he thinks. If Kyungsoo wants him to race after him then Jongin will. 

 

Jongin will race after Kyungsoo.

 

(He’s the best damn racer in the world.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Junmyeon storms through their practice room with a death grip on his Macbook. Kyungsoo worries about the other’s knees when he drops on the floor, scooting to where he and Baekhyun are chatting.

 

“Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon pants. His hand trembles when he opens the laptop. “Have you seen this?”

 

“Seen what?” 

 

“Jongin’s on the news,” Junmyeon replies stoically. There’s an undercurrent of anger simmering on his tone despite the way he tries to sound monotone. Junmyeon has always had a hard time trying to hide when he’s mad. The leader shows the page to Kyungsoo, grabbing Kyungsoo’s hand and placing it on the trackpad, a silent permission for him to read.

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes widen but his lips purse tightly at the pictures and the implications displayed on the screen. The translation from English to Korean is horrible at best but Kyungsoo is not stupid enough to miss the elephant-sized suggestions being dropped.

 

There are multiple photos of Jongin—with two women in an open-air club, with a man on a crowded deck of a yacht. Most of them are not paparazzi shots but screen captures from Snapchat or links to Instagram pages. 

 

There’s one of Jongin in between two skimpily dressed women. There’s nothing malicious about the photo but Kyungsoo feels something clench in his chest irrationally. Jongin’s painted in bright pink and his clothes are a little rumpled. Most of the page is devoted to Jongin and another man, sharp cheekbones and blue eyes. Kyungsoo continues to scroll.

 

There are pictures of the man leaning towards Jongin closely and Baekhyun gasps, wrapping one arm on Kyungsoo’s shoulder and pressing close. The younger doesn’t shake him off as the barrage of photos continue. There are more with the two of them laughing and there’s even a video of it too. The man places a distance between the two of them after Jongin has said something. The music drowns it out and Kyungsoo vaguely wonders if this is what they play in Ibiza. It sounds unlike the loud shrieking of electronic pop that Jongin is so adamant on hating. There’s a photo of Jongin standing on the bar counter with champagne drizzling on the people below.

 

The next ones are taken secretly—or maybe not. Kyungsoo’s not really sure how it works in Europe. But his head hurts at the succession of images that has Jongin stumbling out after the man in a Rolls Royce, going inside the hotel.

 

The article pushes it even further, bringing up old pictures from almost two years ago. Jongin in Moscow with a man and a woman. Jongin in New York. Jongin in Ibiza and Monte Carlo and Budapest. Clubs also look the same in every parts of the world—like hotel rooms. There are photos of Jongin kissing a woman under low lighting, his hands almost on the swell of her ass. There are photos of his tongue visible when in the middle of locking lips with various people. Jongin has had a fun time during his first championship.

 

Kyungsoo finishes the article, resolutely staring Junmyeon in the eye. He’s waiting for the inevitable lecture from—

 

“There are people who would date you because you’re a celebrity,” Junmyeon says softly. There’s nothing admonishing about it, there’s no pity. It’s a matter of fact.

 

There are people who would date other people because of their status.

 

“I know.” Kyungsoo does. He knows. His stomach feels empty but there’s bile threatening to come up on his throat.

 

“Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon begins. He shuffles closer and the younger feels Baekhyun’s hand squeeze his shoulder. The man doesn’t say anything. Kyungsoo hears the blood rushing in his veins and the rhythm of his pulse. He feels tired all of a sudden.

 

“I don’t want you to be another trophy on Kai Kim’s long list of achievements.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo throws himself to practice and vocal training. His limbs are aching and his throat is scratchy from pushing himself too hard. The eyes of his members are all trained on him most of the time. Sehun offers him a pat and a juice box. His phone remains turned off.

 

It’s a little over twelve hours when he opens it again. They are about to fly out to Osaka for a three-day Exo’rdium tour in Kyocera Dome. Kyungsoo is unsurprised when he finds it pinging with missed calls and numerous text messages.

 

Jongdae growls, “Those better not be from the bastard.”

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t answer. It’s Jongin. All of them are from Jongin. His texts go from apologetic to borderline anguished. Some are in Korean but there are some written in English. There are typos riddled on most of them.

 

Kyungsoo reads them through and he imagines Jongin’s face when he’s typing out his apology and explanation. 

 

_The photos do not mean anything._

 

_It’s a chance meeting in a party._

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t know how to respond. He feels like he should be mad—or that he should ignore Jongin without texting back. He should want to block the man’s number. But he can’t. He doesn’t want to. Jongin does not deserve that but he also doesn’t trust himself to speak calmly without jumping to conclusions. His fingers shake when he types out his reply. 

 

_Sorry. I’m not ready to talk to you right now. Please give me more time. I’m not breaking up with you._

 

He leaves the _yet_ hanging, unsure of what to do and how to move.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo, no matter how much he hides, is in pain. But it’s not whole-hearted pain. It’s different—like he’s stuck in a limbo, suspended in a vacuum. There’s a little bit of fright clouding his senses, scared of hearing Jongin’s explanations. There’s no way he’ll know which ones are the truths and which ones are the lies.

 

_There are men who date celebrities to date celebrities._

 

He hopes to hear the good thing, the nice thing. Kyungsoo doesn’t think Jongin is the type to cheat but appearances can fool a person. Kyungsoo muses, a little morbidly, if Blue Eyes is also lured the same way as he is—slightly tipsy but hungry, deliciously bothered by Jongin’s hot breath and gold skin.

 

_There are men who date celebrities to date celebrities._

 

Kyungsoo knows.

 

Kyungsoo’s fine. He’s fine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyocera Dome is smaller than Tokyo Dome but it’s still one of the bigger arenas Kyungsoo has been in. The stage is a little closer to the fans this time and he runs his eyes with a practiced smile to the eager faces clamoring for a bit of his attention. Fanservice is as much of a performance as the notes vibrating in Kyungsoo’s throat.

 

On the third row of the nearest box, Kyungsoo almost forgets the lyrics and the note he’s holding almost falters if not for the tight grip on his microphone. It feels like dèjá vu.

 

Jongin’s standing there with a solemn expression. There’s a small smile playing on his lips like he’s glad to see Kyungsoo on stage. His lightstick illuminates his face, accentuating the height of his cheekbones and the plumpness of his lips. He looks so handsome carrying that embarrassing lamb doll that always sends warmth to Kyungsoo’s cheeks and the tips of his ears.

 

That’s the man whom Kyungsoo loves.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jongin is there on the second day—on the same section but, this time, on the second row. Kyungsoo’s grin turns more genuine and he watches as Jongin’s small smile transforms into a relieved grin. And then something full-blown, something bright. Kyungsoo wonders if Jongin can light up the entire arena with a single smile. His eyes have disappeared in the lovely crescents that fill Kyungsoo’s dreams. One of the younger’s hand wiggles Dyolamb’stiny arm as if saying hello. 

 

_That’s the man whom Kyungsoo loves._

 

Kyungsoo figures that the series of _ba-dump, ba-dump, badump, ba-dump, badump, badump_ on his chest is not because of the bass but because of Jongin. 

 

His heartbeat is out of rhythm.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo wakes up on the eleventh a little groggy. Three-day concerts take their tolls on all of them. Three days of selling dreams and themselves in the form of music and performances. Kyungsoo powers through aching bones and cramping muscles in an almost routine pace.

 

He has barely finished his breakfast, opting to chug two cups of coffee to keep himself awake. Junmyeon has been eyeing him since the moment he has seen him. Kyungsoo is not in the mood to dissect any of his members’ weird behavior. 

 

Someone grins at him at the moment he steps out of the van in the staff entrance of the stadium. They’re a almost an hour early ahead of schedule today and they are ushered in quickly and Kyungsoo feels his nerves becoming jittery. 

 

There’s a _will Jongin be there?_ on the tip of his tongue.

 

He’s surprised when he turns into a corner and—roses. 

 

The hallway is lined with clear plastic pails filled to the brim with blood red roses. Kyungsoo gapes at the arrangements, fingers running on the soft petals.There must be at least a thousand of them. The red stands stark on the plain white walls. Kyungsoo follows the trail helplessly. Reaching their dressing room, the buckets still continue on.

 

“Follow it, Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon grins. His eyes look a little watery and Kyungsoo senses the embarrassment building inside him when Junmyeon shoots him twin finger guns before leading the rest of the leering members inside.

 

Kyungsoo follows the roses like a map and sure enough—Jongin.

 

“There you are,” the younger man says, breathy. He’s carrying a single rose on his hand and there’s one perched on his right ear. Red doesn’t just look good on white; it looks even better against gold.

 

Jongin has always been golden—even without the accolades.

 

Kyungsoo steps closer, closer, closer. His heart wants to burst out of his chest. The stem on the rose in Jongin’s hand is trimmed down shortly. He offers it to Kyungsoo with a sheepish smile. He’s embarrassed, Kyungsoo notes. That makes two of them.

 

“So we match?” There’s a hint of uncertainty under the conviction in Jongin’s voice.

 

Kyungsoo looks up at Jongin’s eyes and, despite the hopefulness and slight desperation, the taller man seems so sure, so honest, so bare in front of Kyungsoo.

 

He takes the flower and places it on his ear.

 

(That’s the man whom Kyungsoo loves.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jongin’s sitting sprawled on the floor with Kyungsoo beside him. They both have fifteen minutes before the singer has to go back to his own dressing room. Their thighs touch, Jongin’s denim and Kyungsoo’s sweatpants.

 

The older is gripping Jongin’s hand, playing with the calloused hands and tracing the various lines on Jongin’s palm. They haven’t stopped smiling and the rose is still on each of their ears.

 

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin breaks the comfortable silence, “please let me explain.”

 

The smaller man hums. His legs reach only Jongin’s shin. He says, “Later. After the concert. Let’s talk.”

 

Jongin whispers a quiet _alright_ before he leans his head on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. Kyungsoo continues stroking Jongin’s hand.

 

“I’m sorry,” the younger man croaks out after a minute. “Don’t break up with me.”

 

“After, Jongin,” Kyungsoo insists. “We’ll talk after, okay?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo stays back in Japan after the last concert to talk to Jongin. This time, it’s Chanyeol and Baekhyun who have stayed with him to keep up appearances. One of the perks of being a fifth year major moneymaker is management going lax on them.

 

He goes up on Jongin’s suite and the door swings open to reveal an anxious looking man. Kyungsoo grabs Jongin’s hand, leading the man inside his own room. They settle in the sitting area and Kyungsoo makes himself comfortable.

 

The moment Kyungsoo faces Jongin, the man takes both of Kyungsoo’s hands in his. They maneuver so they’re facing each other one-on-one.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is barely above a whisper but it’s as loud as a scream in the dead quiet of the suite. “But I’m telling the truth when I say nothing happened in Ibiza. I was at a party and danced with girls. The photos with another man was blown out of proportion. He tried hitting on me, sure, but I made it clear that I have a special someone. And it’s you.”

 

Kyungsoo listens attentively. Jongin’s breathing is steady and the softness of his voice doesn’t betray the confidence in his story. It doesn’t seem like a lie but Kyungsoo’s an idol, an actor, a celebrity.

 

“Then what are you sorry for?”

 

Jongin takes a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily. He squeezes Kyungsoo’s hands in his. “I’m sorry because I made you feel bad.”

 

Kyungsoo leans on Jongin’s chest and Jongin’s hands goes around him, linked on the bottom of his spine.

 

“You made me feel bad and I was mad at you,” the older man whispers. He removes his head and goes up on his knees so he’s kneeling on the couch, facing Jongin. His hands cup the man’s face, rubbing the skin stretched on cheekbones lightly.

 

“I have no way of knowing if what you’re saying is real or not—” Kyungsoo places his index finger on Jongin’s mouth, cutting off any protest or explanation. “—but you’re not a bad person. I may not know who Kai Kim is but I do know Kim Jongin. He’s kind and cheesy and a romantic. He used to party a lot but he got scolded by Mercedes and made his mom cry so he stopped. He failed his first civilian driving test because he can’t park properly and he failed the next because he almost gave his instructor a heart attack because he’s so used to driving Formula Ones.”

 

He pauses a bit and he kisses the tip of Jongin’s nose and then his lips. It’s short but it’s satisfying in a way only this kind of kisses can be. “I told you before that you’re good enough for me. And it hasn’t changed, Jongin. I love you and you’re good enough for me.”

 

Another thing that Kyungsoo has known about Kim Jongin—the man looks ugly when he cries.

 

(Jongin returns the words when he’s calmed down, hiccuping on the word _love_ and making Kyungsoo laugh out loud.)

 

Jongin and Kyungsoo are fine. They’re fine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo supposes it’s coincidence, meeting Jongin’s eyes in the front rows of a fashion show he can’t even remember. Jongin admits to being curious about him, teasing him because he has thought Kyungsoo has an idea who he is.

 

“I don’t even know what a Formula One is before we met,” Kyungsoo has deadpanned. Jongin claims to be so offended that he has to kiss Kyungsoo breathless before tickling him to submission. The older man kicks Jongin straight on the nose.

 

Jongin’s sleeping on Kyungsoo’s chest soundly. Kyungsoo has woken up early on the morning of December 12th. Today marks their tenth month since meeting each other. Kyungsoo watches Jongin doze, each of their hands intertwined tightly.

 

Neither of them wants to let go.

 

There’s a myth to the reality of their story. It’s quiet. If Kyungsoo has to compare it to something, he thinks they’re a little like old films without any sound, just motions and expressive emotions. Or maybe snapshots—a collection of stilled photographs appearing and disappearing on screen.

 

“Good morning, Kyungsoo.” 

 

The said man is startled from himself when Jongin rouses from his slumber. He places his hand on Kyungsoo’s lips before he leans in, kissing the back of his hand.

 

“Morning breath,” Jongin reasons. He stretches his arms wide, careful not to hit a ducking Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo watches the skin on Jongin’s chest and arms shift over the movements of his muscles.

 

Jongin looks like a god reborn when the early morning light hits him just so. The finite expanse of his skin is the infinity Kyungsoo wants to touch and kiss.

 

“What are you looking at, pervert?” Jongin teases.

 

“You.”

 

Kyungsoo supposes he can be honest once in a while.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Switzerland chills Kyungsoo’s bones with its picture perfect white snow. It’s quiet in the countryside and Jongin has expressed that one of the appeals of the property is the long stretch of road. He’s in front of the fireplace, cuddling Dyolamb close to his chest while they both lie down on the plush rug in front of the heat. His socks are mismatched and he’s in a pair of thick flannel pajamas and an old oversized sweater that may or may not be his.

 

“Kyungsoo, please,” Jongin whines, disturbing the serenity. “Let’s go on a drive.”

 

“I don’t want to change out of my pajamas,” he says.

 

Jongin waves a thick parka around, enthusing, “You don’t have to! We’ll just go get warm food and then go back. We can watch movies after.”

 

Kyungsoo pretends to heave a put upon sigh but the corners of his lips twitch to show his mirth.

 

“Okay, you big baby.” Kyungsoo stands up from the rug, bringing the doll with him.

 

“Your baby,” Jongin drawls, not-winking, before he bundles Kyungsoo in his marshmallow jacket. 

 

“Gross.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo’s sitting on the leather seat of Jongin’s LaFerrari in his flannel pajamas and Nike sneakers. Dyolamb is on his lap and Jongin is on the driver’s side buckling himself up. The car purrs like a well-trained lover and the younger man is careful to maintain his speed on the road.

 

He reaches for one of Jongin’s hands, detaching it from the wheel. Jongin can drive one-handed without any problem. The taller man smiles wide, squeezing Kyungsoo’s stubby fingers. Kyungsoo returns the gesture before bringing the larger hand to his lips.

 

The car zooms almost lazily on the road. Kyungsoo smiles to himself, kissing each finger softly. On Jongin’s thumb—their first meeting. On his index finger—the way the man would caress Kyungsoo’s face from his phone screen. On his middle finger—the spontaneity of escaping from the public’s eyes. On his ring finger—the lull in their relationship that makes Kyungsoo move and makes Jongin’s world stop. On his little finger—a promise.

 

Kyungsoo thinks, finally—a home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok that's it!! i left some easter eggs for irl events in the sports world for those who can spot them (if you can't i can easily point them out to you ;))
> 
> what i'm trying to achieve by writing this is something magical in the middle of the reality of their relationship, kinda like magical realism in slice-of-life romance. at first, i thought it's gonna be angsty and dramatic but i scrapped that idea all together since i feel like this fits well better into their characterization. first and foremost, this is a fic written to make readers feel good. circuit dreams is also circuit, dreams, jongin is the circuit to kyungsoo, who's the dreams. the alternate in pov is to showcase how parallel they are, how different yet similar they are when coming to a certain thought or conclusion.
> 
> i admit i felt pressured since i got lots of positive comments but you know, i'm writing the fic i want to read and i'm honestly very pleased about this entire thing. i wanna blame rian (@kaditrash on twitter) for this monstrosity and idk why i'm blaming her but i'm sure it's her fault.
> 
> please leave comments (don't be too harsh please i can't take that), kudos, or whatever else and let me know how you feel about close 27k words of jongin and ksoo being soft boyfriends. also, i just realized that i might as well put my twitter here so yall can scream at me @OFFICIAL_KJD21
> 
> anyway, bye, my dudes. watch out for an NHL AU and a Korean War AU ft. kaisoo from your resident girlie, jongdaesang. also jongdae is blond.

**Author's Note:**

> this came over to me when i was stuck in traffic for, like, 6 hours. i'm such a fuckin hoe for sports why did i only write F1 champion jongin and idol kyungsoo now.....
> 
> anyway, flame my ass or whatever cos this monster is just the first part. i'm posting this now as an apology to those waiting for the transporter to finish. that damn fic is not writing itself the way i want it to write itself. see ya later, hoes


End file.
